Thursday, January 31, 2008
Heard On The Street
The iron rule of life is that only 20% of the people can be in the top fifth + that's just the way it is + the answer is that it's partly efficient and partly inefficient.
The Mirror, Mirroring Or Spread Table Cut
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
Mirror Cuts were more often oblong than square in outline. One of my experiments shows clearly why this was so. I produced replicas of the two halves of a large octahedron, as if the octahedron had been cleaved through the center. One of these halves I then fashioned into a square Mirror and the other into an oblong Mirror. In both, the aim was to produce maximum show with minimum weight loss. Both had full pavilions with relatively small culets. The results showed, first, that this type of rough, was ideal for Mirroring Spread Table Cuts and, secondly, how an elongated outline could be a good commercial propostion! They also showed why early cutters were tempted to produce gems with blunt corners.
Dimensions
Square: 2x2.8cm
Elongated Rectangle: 3.3 x 2.62 cm
Area
Square: 7.84 cm²
Elongated Rectangle: 8.65 cm²
Table size
Square: 88%
Elongated Rectangle: 81%
Crown angle
Square: 40°
Elongated Rectangle: 40°
Pavilion angle
Square: 49.5°
Elongated Rectangle: 51°
Culet size
Square: 15%
Elongated Rectangle: 17%
Weight
Square: 38.17ct
Elongated Rectangle: 43.52ct
I must admit that I did not succeed in obtaining ideal proportions, but then neither did the early cutters. I did discover that my oblong ‘diamond’ was 10 percent larger in area and 14 percent heavier than my square one, so one can understand why Mirror Cut diamonds were more often oblong than square.
It was, then, a lack of appreciation of fire—the separation of light into spectral colors—at that time, combined with the price factor, which encouraged the cutters to use rough from which it would have been impossible to fashion High Table Cuts without prohibitive loss of weight. Size was all important, reflecting, perhaps, the classical proportions discussed above. All this explains why, among old jewels, we find so many Mirror Cut diamonds with table sizes of up to 80 percent or more, but nevertheless with correctly proportioned pavilions.
An example of this is found in the pendant known as Palatine Lion (Pfälzer Löwe), one of the pièces de résistance of the Treasury in Munich. The diamond is just below the ring attached to the diamond-studded chain from which the pendant once hung. It has a distinct cleavage crack, found to be absolutely parallel with the octahedral face of a ‘was’. The fact that these are parallel confirms that this diamond can only have been fashioned from a triangular crystal of this type. Note also the obvious reason for the two blunted corners—a typical manner of achieving larger sizes at the expense of symmetry. Another example of a similarly inclined cleavage crack is found in a tiny (4x4mm) overspread Mirror Cut diamond, thte largest on the pedestal of a pendant representing Nessus and Deinarina.
Mirror Cuts were more often oblong than square in outline. One of my experiments shows clearly why this was so. I produced replicas of the two halves of a large octahedron, as if the octahedron had been cleaved through the center. One of these halves I then fashioned into a square Mirror and the other into an oblong Mirror. In both, the aim was to produce maximum show with minimum weight loss. Both had full pavilions with relatively small culets. The results showed, first, that this type of rough, was ideal for Mirroring Spread Table Cuts and, secondly, how an elongated outline could be a good commercial propostion! They also showed why early cutters were tempted to produce gems with blunt corners.
Dimensions
Square: 2x2.8cm
Elongated Rectangle: 3.3 x 2.62 cm
Area
Square: 7.84 cm²
Elongated Rectangle: 8.65 cm²
Table size
Square: 88%
Elongated Rectangle: 81%
Crown angle
Square: 40°
Elongated Rectangle: 40°
Pavilion angle
Square: 49.5°
Elongated Rectangle: 51°
Culet size
Square: 15%
Elongated Rectangle: 17%
Weight
Square: 38.17ct
Elongated Rectangle: 43.52ct
I must admit that I did not succeed in obtaining ideal proportions, but then neither did the early cutters. I did discover that my oblong ‘diamond’ was 10 percent larger in area and 14 percent heavier than my square one, so one can understand why Mirror Cut diamonds were more often oblong than square.
It was, then, a lack of appreciation of fire—the separation of light into spectral colors—at that time, combined with the price factor, which encouraged the cutters to use rough from which it would have been impossible to fashion High Table Cuts without prohibitive loss of weight. Size was all important, reflecting, perhaps, the classical proportions discussed above. All this explains why, among old jewels, we find so many Mirror Cut diamonds with table sizes of up to 80 percent or more, but nevertheless with correctly proportioned pavilions.
An example of this is found in the pendant known as Palatine Lion (Pfälzer Löwe), one of the pièces de résistance of the Treasury in Munich. The diamond is just below the ring attached to the diamond-studded chain from which the pendant once hung. It has a distinct cleavage crack, found to be absolutely parallel with the octahedral face of a ‘was’. The fact that these are parallel confirms that this diamond can only have been fashioned from a triangular crystal of this type. Note also the obvious reason for the two blunted corners—a typical manner of achieving larger sizes at the expense of symmetry. Another example of a similarly inclined cleavage crack is found in a tiny (4x4mm) overspread Mirror Cut diamond, thte largest on the pedestal of a pendant representing Nessus and Deinarina.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
4. Brooches
Especially busy, in the fourteenth century, were the brooch makers. There were so many of them that they formed a group by themselves. They turned out what may be termed everyday brooches. If a particularly fine brooch was required, the commissions was given over to the goldsmith jeweler.
There was considerable range of size and weight in brooches, according to the type of material which they were intended to fasten. If the material was delicate and filmy, there were tiny brooches less than half an inch across which would hold the stuff in place without tearing it. Our grandmothers had what they called ‘lace pins’ for such purposes. At the other extreme, in point of size, was the Scottish brooch, sometimes as much as four and half inches in diameter. It had to be large and strong, for it held, pinned on the shoulder, the heavy Scottish plaid worn by both men and women of Scotland.
One of the finest surviving examples of the Scottish brooch is the famous Loch Buy Brooch. It is a silver disk elaborately ornamented with filigree. In the raised center is set a large cabochon crystal, and around the edge stand peal-stripped turrets like candles on a frosted birthday cake.
Many brooches were disks or hollow circles, but not all of them by any means. They might be heart-shaped, for brooches were in great favor as love tokens or betrothal gifts, and frequently engraved on the reverse side was the word ‘Love’ or some phrase of affection. Again, the brooch might have religious significance and be fashioned in the image of a saint, such as St Christopher bearing the Christ child on his shoulder.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continued)
4. Brooches
Especially busy, in the fourteenth century, were the brooch makers. There were so many of them that they formed a group by themselves. They turned out what may be termed everyday brooches. If a particularly fine brooch was required, the commissions was given over to the goldsmith jeweler.
There was considerable range of size and weight in brooches, according to the type of material which they were intended to fasten. If the material was delicate and filmy, there were tiny brooches less than half an inch across which would hold the stuff in place without tearing it. Our grandmothers had what they called ‘lace pins’ for such purposes. At the other extreme, in point of size, was the Scottish brooch, sometimes as much as four and half inches in diameter. It had to be large and strong, for it held, pinned on the shoulder, the heavy Scottish plaid worn by both men and women of Scotland.
One of the finest surviving examples of the Scottish brooch is the famous Loch Buy Brooch. It is a silver disk elaborately ornamented with filigree. In the raised center is set a large cabochon crystal, and around the edge stand peal-stripped turrets like candles on a frosted birthday cake.
Many brooches were disks or hollow circles, but not all of them by any means. They might be heart-shaped, for brooches were in great favor as love tokens or betrothal gifts, and frequently engraved on the reverse side was the word ‘Love’ or some phrase of affection. Again, the brooch might have religious significance and be fashioned in the image of a saint, such as St Christopher bearing the Christ child on his shoulder.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continued)
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
Hoppner also had lost his chance by attaching himself to the wrong political party, so young Lawrence had it all his own way, and after being made a full R. A when he was only twenty five, on the death of Benjamin West in 1820 he was unanimously elected the new President. Five years before this he had been knighted, and during the interval between his knighthood and his Presidency he had visited the chief Courts of Europe and painted more crowned heads than any other English artist before or since. His prices were higher than those of any artist before him: for head he received 200 guineas, for a full-length hi usual terms were 600 to 700 guineas, but for some portraits—like that of ‘Lady Gower and Child’—he received as much as 1500 guineas.
Like Reynolds, Lawrence never married, but he was engaged for a time to the daughter of Mrs Siddons, and treated the poor girl so badly that a tragedy ensued. He was so notorious a flirt that when he was painting the portrait of Caroline of Brunswick he was required to draw up an affidavit as to the propriety of his conduct. Though popular and tremedously successful, the private life of Lawrence was not particularly happy; and though he made great sums he was often in financial difficulties owing to foolish purchases. He was constantly tempted to pay extravagant prices for painting by Old Masters, and his numerous acquaintances—for he had few real friends—often took advantage of his kindness and generosity. His fame is lower today than it was in his lifetime, for there was an inherent weakness both in his art and in his character. The refinement of his drawing is still to be admired, but he had not the love of truth which distinguished his great predecessors, and beside their work the portraits of Lawrence are apt to appear artificial and insipid. He is seen at his best in his portrait of ‘Lady Blessington’ in the Wallace Collection, and looking at this elegant portrait of an elegant woman we perceive the subtelty of what Campbell said about the artist. ‘Lawrence,’ the poet remarked, ‘makes one seem to have got into the drawing room in te mansions of the blest and to be looking at oneself in the mirrors.’
Another precocious child artist of the eighteenth century was the famous woman-painter, Angelica Kaufmann (1741-1807). She was the daughter of a mediocre Swiss portrait-painter who settled in England, and when she was ten years old Angelica was executing portraits in crayons with the assurance of a professional. Owing to the sex prejudice which existed in her day, she was taken by her father to the Academy in boy’s clothes, so that she might improve her drawing. When she was in her middle ‘teens she accompanied her father to Milan, Florence, Rome, and Venice, and it was at the latter city in 1764 that she made the acquaintance of the wife of the English Ambassador, who took a great fancy to the clever young artist and brought her back with her to England. Thus introduced to England in 1765, she soon became a general favorite, the young Queen being particularly attracted by her scholarly mind and amiable personality. In 1769 she was nominated one of the foundation members of the Royal Academy. The same year she was unhappily deceived into a secret marriage with the valet of Count de Horn, who had passed himself off for his master. This scoundrel treated her badly, and she only managed to buy back her liberty by giving him £300 on condition that he took himself off to Germany and did not return to England. With the exception of this painful episode, the private life of Angelica Kaufmann was as happy and serene as her own pictures, and after the false count had died she married again in 1780. Her second husband was a Venetian painter, Antonio Zucchi, with whom, and with her father, she returned to Italy two years after her marriage, and finally settled in Rome, where, happy, popular, and universally esteemed, she lived twenty five years till her death in 1807. ‘The Portrait of the Artist,’ gives a good idea of the personal charm of Angelica Kaufmann as a young woman, and of the soft graciousness which distinguishes her painting.
Hoppner also had lost his chance by attaching himself to the wrong political party, so young Lawrence had it all his own way, and after being made a full R. A when he was only twenty five, on the death of Benjamin West in 1820 he was unanimously elected the new President. Five years before this he had been knighted, and during the interval between his knighthood and his Presidency he had visited the chief Courts of Europe and painted more crowned heads than any other English artist before or since. His prices were higher than those of any artist before him: for head he received 200 guineas, for a full-length hi usual terms were 600 to 700 guineas, but for some portraits—like that of ‘Lady Gower and Child’—he received as much as 1500 guineas.
Like Reynolds, Lawrence never married, but he was engaged for a time to the daughter of Mrs Siddons, and treated the poor girl so badly that a tragedy ensued. He was so notorious a flirt that when he was painting the portrait of Caroline of Brunswick he was required to draw up an affidavit as to the propriety of his conduct. Though popular and tremedously successful, the private life of Lawrence was not particularly happy; and though he made great sums he was often in financial difficulties owing to foolish purchases. He was constantly tempted to pay extravagant prices for painting by Old Masters, and his numerous acquaintances—for he had few real friends—often took advantage of his kindness and generosity. His fame is lower today than it was in his lifetime, for there was an inherent weakness both in his art and in his character. The refinement of his drawing is still to be admired, but he had not the love of truth which distinguished his great predecessors, and beside their work the portraits of Lawrence are apt to appear artificial and insipid. He is seen at his best in his portrait of ‘Lady Blessington’ in the Wallace Collection, and looking at this elegant portrait of an elegant woman we perceive the subtelty of what Campbell said about the artist. ‘Lawrence,’ the poet remarked, ‘makes one seem to have got into the drawing room in te mansions of the blest and to be looking at oneself in the mirrors.’
Another precocious child artist of the eighteenth century was the famous woman-painter, Angelica Kaufmann (1741-1807). She was the daughter of a mediocre Swiss portrait-painter who settled in England, and when she was ten years old Angelica was executing portraits in crayons with the assurance of a professional. Owing to the sex prejudice which existed in her day, she was taken by her father to the Academy in boy’s clothes, so that she might improve her drawing. When she was in her middle ‘teens she accompanied her father to Milan, Florence, Rome, and Venice, and it was at the latter city in 1764 that she made the acquaintance of the wife of the English Ambassador, who took a great fancy to the clever young artist and brought her back with her to England. Thus introduced to England in 1765, she soon became a general favorite, the young Queen being particularly attracted by her scholarly mind and amiable personality. In 1769 she was nominated one of the foundation members of the Royal Academy. The same year she was unhappily deceived into a secret marriage with the valet of Count de Horn, who had passed himself off for his master. This scoundrel treated her badly, and she only managed to buy back her liberty by giving him £300 on condition that he took himself off to Germany and did not return to England. With the exception of this painful episode, the private life of Angelica Kaufmann was as happy and serene as her own pictures, and after the false count had died she married again in 1780. Her second husband was a Venetian painter, Antonio Zucchi, with whom, and with her father, she returned to Italy two years after her marriage, and finally settled in Rome, where, happy, popular, and universally esteemed, she lived twenty five years till her death in 1807. ‘The Portrait of the Artist,’ gives a good idea of the personal charm of Angelica Kaufmann as a young woman, and of the soft graciousness which distinguishes her painting.
Lab-grown Diamonds + Designers
I think it’s encouraging to see Taryn Rose + Jennifer Phelps-Montgomery promote Gemesis Cultured diamonds (fancy yellows) in their unique jewelry designs + I hope natural diamond and lab-grown diamonds are able to co-exist providing affordable alternatives with proper disclosures to consumers who love diamonds.
Useful links:
www.tarynrose.com
www.gemesis.com
www.solaurafinejewelry.com
www.renaissancediamonds.com
Useful links:
www.tarynrose.com
www.gemesis.com
www.solaurafinejewelry.com
www.renaissancediamonds.com
Survival Of The Sickest
Survival Of The Sickest: A Medical Maverick Discovers Why We Need Disease by Sharon Moalem + Jonathan Prince is filled with surprising observations + facts + I highly recommend it.
Here is what the description of Survival Of The Sickest says (via Amazon):
Read it. You're already living it. Was diabetes evolution's response to the last Ice Age? Did a deadly genetic disease help our ancestors survive the bubonic plagues of Europe? Will a visit to the tanning salon help lower your cholesterol? Why do we age? Why are some people immune to HIV? Can your genes be turned on -- or off?
Joining the ranks of modern myth busters, Dr. Sharon Moalem turns our current understanding of illness on its head and challenges us to fundamentally change the way we think about our bodies, our health, and our relationship to just about every other living thing on earth, from plants and animals to insects and bacteria.
Through a fresh and engaging examination of our evolutionary history, Dr. Moalem reveals how many of the conditions that are diseases today actually gave our ancestors a leg up in the survival sweepstakes. When the option is a long life with a disease or a short one without it, evolution opts for disease almost every time.
Everything from the climate our ancestors lived in to the crops they planted and ate to their beverage of choice can be seen in our genetic inheritance. But Survival of the Sickest doesn't stop there. It goes on to demonstrate just how little modern medicine really understands about human health, and offers a new way of thinking that can help all of us live longer, healthier lives.
Survival of the Sickest is filled with fascinating insights and cutting-edge research, presented in a way that is both accessible and utterly absorbing. This is a book about the interconnectedness of all life on earth -- and, especially, what that means for us.
Useful link:
www.survivalofthesickestthebook.com
Here is what the description of Survival Of The Sickest says (via Amazon):
Read it. You're already living it. Was diabetes evolution's response to the last Ice Age? Did a deadly genetic disease help our ancestors survive the bubonic plagues of Europe? Will a visit to the tanning salon help lower your cholesterol? Why do we age? Why are some people immune to HIV? Can your genes be turned on -- or off?
Joining the ranks of modern myth busters, Dr. Sharon Moalem turns our current understanding of illness on its head and challenges us to fundamentally change the way we think about our bodies, our health, and our relationship to just about every other living thing on earth, from plants and animals to insects and bacteria.
Through a fresh and engaging examination of our evolutionary history, Dr. Moalem reveals how many of the conditions that are diseases today actually gave our ancestors a leg up in the survival sweepstakes. When the option is a long life with a disease or a short one without it, evolution opts for disease almost every time.
Everything from the climate our ancestors lived in to the crops they planted and ate to their beverage of choice can be seen in our genetic inheritance. But Survival of the Sickest doesn't stop there. It goes on to demonstrate just how little modern medicine really understands about human health, and offers a new way of thinking that can help all of us live longer, healthier lives.
Survival of the Sickest is filled with fascinating insights and cutting-edge research, presented in a way that is both accessible and utterly absorbing. This is a book about the interconnectedness of all life on earth -- and, especially, what that means for us.
Useful link:
www.survivalofthesickestthebook.com
Software For Artists
Here is an interesting program for jewelry designers + other artists. Art Affair software now offers Artist Edition + Art Organizer + this new version allows users to record and track their creations + shows + competitions + contact lists + schedules + other features.
Useful link:
www.artaffairsoftware.com
Useful link:
www.artaffairsoftware.com
Kingman Turquoise
This is what I found interesting @ www.colbaugh.net. Only about 3% of turquoise is hard enough in it's natural state to be used in jewelry + various terms (natural, stabilized turquoise, treated turquoise, pressed turquoise) may be used to describe different stabilization and treatments in turquoise.
The Handmade Knives & Swords Of Jot Singh Khalsa
Jot Singh Khalsa's unique edged tools and weapons for collectors are unique + the classic handmade material is a magic combination of precious metals and gemstones, which in my opinion is work of art. It's look beautiful.
Useful link:
www.khalsakirpans.com
Useful link:
www.khalsakirpans.com
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Heard On The Street
You have to figure out what your own aptitudes are + if you play games where other people have the aptitudes and you don't, you're going to lose + and that's as close to certain as any prediction that you can make + you have to figure out where you've got an edge + and you've got to play within your own circle of competence.
Gerhard Richter
Gerhard Richter is a German artist + he is considered as one of the most important German artists of the post-World War II period and is also one of the world's most expensive, with his paintings often selling for several million dollars apiece.
'One has to believe in what one is doing, one has to commit oneself inwardly, in order to do painting. Once obsessed, one ultimately carries it to the point of believing that one might change human beings through painting. But if one lacks this passionate commitment, there is nothing left to do. Then it is best to leave it alone. For basically painting is idiocy.' (From Richter, 'Notes 1973', in The Daily Practice of Painting, p.78.)
I read the quote several times + he knows his way with words + now I understand his mind.
Useful links:
www.gerhard-richter.com
www.gerhard-richter-archiv.de
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerhard_Richter
'One has to believe in what one is doing, one has to commit oneself inwardly, in order to do painting. Once obsessed, one ultimately carries it to the point of believing that one might change human beings through painting. But if one lacks this passionate commitment, there is nothing left to do. Then it is best to leave it alone. For basically painting is idiocy.' (From Richter, 'Notes 1973', in The Daily Practice of Painting, p.78.)
I read the quote several times + he knows his way with words + now I understand his mind.
Useful links:
www.gerhard-richter.com
www.gerhard-richter-archiv.de
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gerhard_Richter
The Mirror, Mirroring Or Spread Table Cut
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
The term ‘Mirror’ dates from the late fourteenth century and is frequently found in inventories of the early fifteenth century where gems were described as fait en façon de mirouer or mirour de diemant. It was also used in the names of famous diamonds such as the Mirror of Portugal and the Mirror of France. The mirror was very popular as a form of decoration and a symbol of luxury during the Renaissance. Applied to diamonds, the term described the striking light effects in certain Table Cuts. The term will not be found in modern diamond literature, but it is so appropriate for the cut that I feel it should be brought back. A Spread Table Cut looks exactly like a mirror, both in its outline and because of the strong reflection of light from its large surface—a far stronger reflection in diamonds than from a mirror made of metal or glass.
The term was applied to every diamond that resembled a mirror but it was not enough for well-polished facets to give attractive surface reflections (adamantine luster). Brilliant reflections from the interior were necessary as well, and these could only be achieved if the pavilion angle were about 45°. However, as it is unlikely, at least until after the Renaissance, that these combined light effects were perceived as separate phenomena, it seems logical to apply the term ‘mirroring’ to any historic cut with the quality of brilliance. These terms were introduced to French during the twelfth century, and only replaced by the term brilliant (used as an adjective) somewhere around 1564. After 1608 Brilliant (now used as a noun as well) gradually came to describe all faceted, pavilion-based diamonds.
The Mirror Cut is considerably less expensive to fashion than the High. Its general geometry is similar, especially in the pavilion with its relatively small culet which reflects light back through the crown—as it does, of course, in any Table Cut diamond with 45° angles of inclination in the main facets. The size of the table in a Mirror Cut appears to have been influenced by the square root of two and by the simple arithmetical proportions proposed by Luca Pacioli in 1509. Both are of geometric, though not Pythagorean, origin. The table would be around 70.7 percent of the overall dimension of the girdle. A figure which springs to mind when one thinks of Mirror Cut diamonds is that of a ‘man and a circle inscribed in a square’. A man and circle inscribed in a square, after a sixteenth century edition of the writings of Vitruvius could be a diamond and its table facet, in a ratio of 2:1, giving a table size of 70.7 percent. A man in a square , after a drawing by Cornelius Agrippa in the 1533 edition of Occulta Philosophia would, if applied to geometry of diamonds, suggest a table size of almost 80 percent.
In fact, the crown was often so low that the table was sometimes as much as 90 percent of the width of the girdle. A facet of this size acts, literally, as a mirror, and the reflections from the pavilion facets and the culet further increase the brilliance. However, only High Table Cuts, and then only those with correct proportions and perfect symmetry, display a combination of both brilliance and fire. In the old days gems of this type could be quite easily fashioned, with very little loss of weight, from fairly thick triangular rough such as macles, which were plentiful and much less expensive than octahedrons. A ‘was’, produced by cleaving, was equally suitable.
The Mirror, Mirroring Or Spread Table Cut (continued)
The term ‘Mirror’ dates from the late fourteenth century and is frequently found in inventories of the early fifteenth century where gems were described as fait en façon de mirouer or mirour de diemant. It was also used in the names of famous diamonds such as the Mirror of Portugal and the Mirror of France. The mirror was very popular as a form of decoration and a symbol of luxury during the Renaissance. Applied to diamonds, the term described the striking light effects in certain Table Cuts. The term will not be found in modern diamond literature, but it is so appropriate for the cut that I feel it should be brought back. A Spread Table Cut looks exactly like a mirror, both in its outline and because of the strong reflection of light from its large surface—a far stronger reflection in diamonds than from a mirror made of metal or glass.
The term was applied to every diamond that resembled a mirror but it was not enough for well-polished facets to give attractive surface reflections (adamantine luster). Brilliant reflections from the interior were necessary as well, and these could only be achieved if the pavilion angle were about 45°. However, as it is unlikely, at least until after the Renaissance, that these combined light effects were perceived as separate phenomena, it seems logical to apply the term ‘mirroring’ to any historic cut with the quality of brilliance. These terms were introduced to French during the twelfth century, and only replaced by the term brilliant (used as an adjective) somewhere around 1564. After 1608 Brilliant (now used as a noun as well) gradually came to describe all faceted, pavilion-based diamonds.
The Mirror Cut is considerably less expensive to fashion than the High. Its general geometry is similar, especially in the pavilion with its relatively small culet which reflects light back through the crown—as it does, of course, in any Table Cut diamond with 45° angles of inclination in the main facets. The size of the table in a Mirror Cut appears to have been influenced by the square root of two and by the simple arithmetical proportions proposed by Luca Pacioli in 1509. Both are of geometric, though not Pythagorean, origin. The table would be around 70.7 percent of the overall dimension of the girdle. A figure which springs to mind when one thinks of Mirror Cut diamonds is that of a ‘man and a circle inscribed in a square’. A man and circle inscribed in a square, after a sixteenth century edition of the writings of Vitruvius could be a diamond and its table facet, in a ratio of 2:1, giving a table size of 70.7 percent. A man in a square , after a drawing by Cornelius Agrippa in the 1533 edition of Occulta Philosophia would, if applied to geometry of diamonds, suggest a table size of almost 80 percent.
In fact, the crown was often so low that the table was sometimes as much as 90 percent of the width of the girdle. A facet of this size acts, literally, as a mirror, and the reflections from the pavilion facets and the culet further increase the brilliance. However, only High Table Cuts, and then only those with correct proportions and perfect symmetry, display a combination of both brilliance and fire. In the old days gems of this type could be quite easily fashioned, with very little loss of weight, from fairly thick triangular rough such as macles, which were plentiful and much less expensive than octahedrons. A ‘was’, produced by cleaving, was equally suitable.
The Mirror, Mirroring Or Spread Table Cut (continued)
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
3. Master Goldsmiths And Apprentices
Sometime after the ninth century various groups of craftsmen, including the workers in gold and cutters of gems, had established guilds for mutual protection. The members of each guild were pledged to assist each other and to see to it that no outsider had equal opportunities.
The goldsmiths’ guild maintained a high standard of workmanship; all members were expected to begin at the foot of the ladder as apprentices and, after a long course of training in all branches of the craft, finally to work their way up to the top—the exalted rank of master craftsman.
The earliest mention of the famous goldsmiths’ guild of England dates from 1180. In common with other guilds, such as the Fishmongers’, the Grocers’ and the Drapers’ Guilds, they sought to prevent all competition. Non-members of a guild were not allowed to practise their trade or craft within town limits.
By 1357 the wealthy and all-powerful goldsmiths’ guild was in the position to erect the Hall of the Goldsmiths’ Company in London; and at a somewhat later date, in addition to carrying on the work of their own craft, the goldsmiths also went in for banking and lending money.
In Florence, by the fourteenth century, the Guild of Workers in Gold and Silver was most important. In fact, it was a school of training not only for all potential jewelers but also for artists in general. Any boy of sixteen who displayed marked artistic talent was a matter of course apprenticed to one of the goldsmiths. He was trained in the art of precious-metal work, even though after a time he might become a sculptor of stone or a painter of pictures. The education of a goldsmith-jeweler was a lengthy process covering many years.
First, the boy apprentice lived in the master craftsman’s house and for a period of from five to seven years exchanged his labor for his instruction. Then as a journeyman he was expected to work for a small wage during three more years. After that, provided the man could qualify, he might become a full-fledged master of his craft, highly skilled in all its many branches. Small wonder that the guild members could execute the intricate and elaborate jewelry so characteristic of the times.
However, it was during this same period of intensive training of the craftsman that there came widespread disaster. Not war, this time, but a still more deadly invader.
An Oriental plague, known as the Black Death, swept across the civilized world, killing people faster than the living could bury them. In Florence, the apprentice and his highly skilled master alike went down before this terrible scourge, and no precious gem or magic amulet had power to cure the victims, though many were the stones engraved and wore for the sole purpose.
For those few goldsmiths who did escape with their lives, however, there was no lack of patrons—patrons whose fortunes had been greatly increased by the wealth inherited from the many plague victims.
Seemingly the rich tried to forget their own terror by means of increased luxuries and diversions. Wealthy noblemen and abbots continued to display their rich costumes and jewels in the face of misery and despair, and the jewelers were set the task of decorating and ‘gemming’ fine muslin and laces. Ecclesiastical vestments were covered with gold filigree work and pearls. Likewise the moneyed layman, and especially his wife, fairly dripped with pearls and precious gems. One of the characteristic features in the dress of that day was the elaborate jeweled girdle fastened with an ornamental buckle. Pearls, sapphires, enamels,gold, silver—anything that was rich and precious and fitting went into the making and garnishing of the girdles of royalty.
But there were strict rules about mixing high-grade with low-grade materials. It was forbidden to ‘garnish any girdle of silk, wool, leather or linen thread with inferior metal’ such as lead, pewter or tin; ‘the same should be burned and the workmen punished for their false work.’ Furthermore, if a girdle-maker of London was caught ‘having secretly made in his chamber a certain girdle that was harnessed with silver’ he was liable to be fined. Only the goldsmiths could mount girdles and garters with gold and silver. That was the law in 1376. Not so different from some of our restrictive labor union rules of today.
In the following century another labor dispute arose over who had the best right to make a certain type of bead. The lapidary had long been laboriously turning and polishing rock crystal, fashioning the hard crystal into beads for rosaries. But while he was plodding over his task the glassworker of Murano had forged ahead and attained high rank among the craftsmen of Venice. Indeed he was the pet (and incidentally the slave) of the Venetian Government. The glass-worker, having learned at long last to make clear colorless glass, could turn out no end of rosaries that looked very like rock crystal, while the lapidary was still polishing a single bead. Besides, glass was cheaper.
So through the ‘Turners of Beads’ branch of his guild, the wrathful lapidary laid his complaint before the Council of Ten, demanding a new law to suppress clear glass beads. But the Council proved deaf to the plea. One of Venice’s chief sources of revenue was her glass, and she had no intention of curtailing it even by so much as a bead.
The disgruntled lapidary had to swallow his chagrin as best he could. But he still had many materials, out of range of the glass-worker, from which to make rosaries. As well as from rock crystal and its rival, glass, rosaries were made of amber, coral, jet, bone, horn, ivory and mother-of-pearl. They were also made of precious metal—especially in silver gilt. In size rosaries varied considerably. Sometimes they were worn about the neck, but more often were attached to the girdle and occasionally even to a finger ring.
In London, the making of rosaries was a flourishing industry. Its trading center was the thoroughfare known as Paternoster Row. Here the rosary makers lived and had their workshops. Some of the beads were turned in a lathe, others slowly ground into shape by hand. Frequently an elaborately carved pendant in the form of crucifix was added to the rosary; another pendant much in favor was a little hollow case which when opened was found to contain a number of tiny figures exquisitely carved.
There were also little pendants shaped like an apple or a pear, which opened to receive the minute image of a saint or some treasured relic. The little fruit-shaped pendants, however, did not always serve religious purposes; often they were used as perfume cases and were likely to contain ambergris, prized then as it is now for its aromatic properties. In former days, however, ambergris had also the enviable reputation of being a curative.
The perfume cases were called ‘pomme ď ambre—apple of amber. Later the pomme ď ambre developed into an elaborate perfume ball of ornamental openwork called a pomander. Inside were many little subdivisions in which different perfumes could be carried, each in a separate compartment. It was a charmingly poetic jewel, exalting the volatile soul of a flower. Poetic, that is, unless one inquired too deeply into the reason for its popularity. The unsavory fact is that the streets of most cities were narrow and unclean. Sewer pipes were conspicuously absent, and the gentry, clad in all its finery, might be forced to the side by pigs that roamed at all through the thoroughfares. Even in the houses of the wealthy the air was none too free from unpleasant odors. And so the little pomander was called to the Herculean task of supplying all the perfumes of Araby to counteract less pleasant emanations—to put it conservatively.
The Worshipful Company of Goldsmiths of London, like many of the older guilds, was a semi-religious organization. It enjoyed the benefit of a patron saint who had himself been a worker in precious metals. St Dunstan’s Day was duly observed with prayers for the souls of deceased members of the Guild. The Company was jealous of its high reputation and viewed with a critical eye the quality of materials, workmanship, and trade conditions. Most of the goldsmiths had their shops near the market of ‘Chepe’ (Cheapsides) in Goldsmiths’ Row.
In Paris, the guild of goldsmiths had their quarters on the Pont du Change and the Pont Nôtre Dame; and the goldsmiths of Florence had forty four shops on the Ponte Vecchio, where, according to the rules of the Guild of Workers in Gold and Silver, the master must both work and live, as he was not allowed to work outside his dwelling place. Emigration of skilled craftsmen from Florence was strictly forbidden.
But presently, what with the demands of the Church and the diversity of commissions from wealthy customers, no one goldsmith could hold in his own hands alone all the many branches of his calling. There were far too many different things asked for, particularly utilitarian things. So the latter demand had been gradually turned over to groups known as girdle-makers, brooch-makers, jet-workers, and many others. These craftsmen formed a class apart from the master goldsmith who erstwhile attended to all the branches of his craft. It was the first step toward the specialization so complete today that any one jewel has to go through many different hands before it is ready for the shop.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continued)
3. Master Goldsmiths And Apprentices
Sometime after the ninth century various groups of craftsmen, including the workers in gold and cutters of gems, had established guilds for mutual protection. The members of each guild were pledged to assist each other and to see to it that no outsider had equal opportunities.
The goldsmiths’ guild maintained a high standard of workmanship; all members were expected to begin at the foot of the ladder as apprentices and, after a long course of training in all branches of the craft, finally to work their way up to the top—the exalted rank of master craftsman.
The earliest mention of the famous goldsmiths’ guild of England dates from 1180. In common with other guilds, such as the Fishmongers’, the Grocers’ and the Drapers’ Guilds, they sought to prevent all competition. Non-members of a guild were not allowed to practise their trade or craft within town limits.
By 1357 the wealthy and all-powerful goldsmiths’ guild was in the position to erect the Hall of the Goldsmiths’ Company in London; and at a somewhat later date, in addition to carrying on the work of their own craft, the goldsmiths also went in for banking and lending money.
In Florence, by the fourteenth century, the Guild of Workers in Gold and Silver was most important. In fact, it was a school of training not only for all potential jewelers but also for artists in general. Any boy of sixteen who displayed marked artistic talent was a matter of course apprenticed to one of the goldsmiths. He was trained in the art of precious-metal work, even though after a time he might become a sculptor of stone or a painter of pictures. The education of a goldsmith-jeweler was a lengthy process covering many years.
First, the boy apprentice lived in the master craftsman’s house and for a period of from five to seven years exchanged his labor for his instruction. Then as a journeyman he was expected to work for a small wage during three more years. After that, provided the man could qualify, he might become a full-fledged master of his craft, highly skilled in all its many branches. Small wonder that the guild members could execute the intricate and elaborate jewelry so characteristic of the times.
However, it was during this same period of intensive training of the craftsman that there came widespread disaster. Not war, this time, but a still more deadly invader.
An Oriental plague, known as the Black Death, swept across the civilized world, killing people faster than the living could bury them. In Florence, the apprentice and his highly skilled master alike went down before this terrible scourge, and no precious gem or magic amulet had power to cure the victims, though many were the stones engraved and wore for the sole purpose.
For those few goldsmiths who did escape with their lives, however, there was no lack of patrons—patrons whose fortunes had been greatly increased by the wealth inherited from the many plague victims.
Seemingly the rich tried to forget their own terror by means of increased luxuries and diversions. Wealthy noblemen and abbots continued to display their rich costumes and jewels in the face of misery and despair, and the jewelers were set the task of decorating and ‘gemming’ fine muslin and laces. Ecclesiastical vestments were covered with gold filigree work and pearls. Likewise the moneyed layman, and especially his wife, fairly dripped with pearls and precious gems. One of the characteristic features in the dress of that day was the elaborate jeweled girdle fastened with an ornamental buckle. Pearls, sapphires, enamels,gold, silver—anything that was rich and precious and fitting went into the making and garnishing of the girdles of royalty.
But there were strict rules about mixing high-grade with low-grade materials. It was forbidden to ‘garnish any girdle of silk, wool, leather or linen thread with inferior metal’ such as lead, pewter or tin; ‘the same should be burned and the workmen punished for their false work.’ Furthermore, if a girdle-maker of London was caught ‘having secretly made in his chamber a certain girdle that was harnessed with silver’ he was liable to be fined. Only the goldsmiths could mount girdles and garters with gold and silver. That was the law in 1376. Not so different from some of our restrictive labor union rules of today.
In the following century another labor dispute arose over who had the best right to make a certain type of bead. The lapidary had long been laboriously turning and polishing rock crystal, fashioning the hard crystal into beads for rosaries. But while he was plodding over his task the glassworker of Murano had forged ahead and attained high rank among the craftsmen of Venice. Indeed he was the pet (and incidentally the slave) of the Venetian Government. The glass-worker, having learned at long last to make clear colorless glass, could turn out no end of rosaries that looked very like rock crystal, while the lapidary was still polishing a single bead. Besides, glass was cheaper.
So through the ‘Turners of Beads’ branch of his guild, the wrathful lapidary laid his complaint before the Council of Ten, demanding a new law to suppress clear glass beads. But the Council proved deaf to the plea. One of Venice’s chief sources of revenue was her glass, and she had no intention of curtailing it even by so much as a bead.
The disgruntled lapidary had to swallow his chagrin as best he could. But he still had many materials, out of range of the glass-worker, from which to make rosaries. As well as from rock crystal and its rival, glass, rosaries were made of amber, coral, jet, bone, horn, ivory and mother-of-pearl. They were also made of precious metal—especially in silver gilt. In size rosaries varied considerably. Sometimes they were worn about the neck, but more often were attached to the girdle and occasionally even to a finger ring.
In London, the making of rosaries was a flourishing industry. Its trading center was the thoroughfare known as Paternoster Row. Here the rosary makers lived and had their workshops. Some of the beads were turned in a lathe, others slowly ground into shape by hand. Frequently an elaborately carved pendant in the form of crucifix was added to the rosary; another pendant much in favor was a little hollow case which when opened was found to contain a number of tiny figures exquisitely carved.
There were also little pendants shaped like an apple or a pear, which opened to receive the minute image of a saint or some treasured relic. The little fruit-shaped pendants, however, did not always serve religious purposes; often they were used as perfume cases and were likely to contain ambergris, prized then as it is now for its aromatic properties. In former days, however, ambergris had also the enviable reputation of being a curative.
The perfume cases were called ‘pomme ď ambre—apple of amber. Later the pomme ď ambre developed into an elaborate perfume ball of ornamental openwork called a pomander. Inside were many little subdivisions in which different perfumes could be carried, each in a separate compartment. It was a charmingly poetic jewel, exalting the volatile soul of a flower. Poetic, that is, unless one inquired too deeply into the reason for its popularity. The unsavory fact is that the streets of most cities were narrow and unclean. Sewer pipes were conspicuously absent, and the gentry, clad in all its finery, might be forced to the side by pigs that roamed at all through the thoroughfares. Even in the houses of the wealthy the air was none too free from unpleasant odors. And so the little pomander was called to the Herculean task of supplying all the perfumes of Araby to counteract less pleasant emanations—to put it conservatively.
The Worshipful Company of Goldsmiths of London, like many of the older guilds, was a semi-religious organization. It enjoyed the benefit of a patron saint who had himself been a worker in precious metals. St Dunstan’s Day was duly observed with prayers for the souls of deceased members of the Guild. The Company was jealous of its high reputation and viewed with a critical eye the quality of materials, workmanship, and trade conditions. Most of the goldsmiths had their shops near the market of ‘Chepe’ (Cheapsides) in Goldsmiths’ Row.
In Paris, the guild of goldsmiths had their quarters on the Pont du Change and the Pont Nôtre Dame; and the goldsmiths of Florence had forty four shops on the Ponte Vecchio, where, according to the rules of the Guild of Workers in Gold and Silver, the master must both work and live, as he was not allowed to work outside his dwelling place. Emigration of skilled craftsmen from Florence was strictly forbidden.
But presently, what with the demands of the Church and the diversity of commissions from wealthy customers, no one goldsmith could hold in his own hands alone all the many branches of his calling. There were far too many different things asked for, particularly utilitarian things. So the latter demand had been gradually turned over to groups known as girdle-makers, brooch-makers, jet-workers, and many others. These craftsmen formed a class apart from the master goldsmith who erstwhile attended to all the branches of his craft. It was the first step toward the specialization so complete today that any one jewel has to go through many different hands before it is ready for the shop.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continued)
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
4
Within the space of this Outline it is not possible to enumerate all the talented painters who made England during the eighteenth century the most prolific country in Europe for the production of notable works of art. The wealth of the country and the patronage extended to art by the Court and Society brought painters from all over the world to London, and in addition to the native-born artists many foreign painters settled in London, among them being the two American historical painters, John Singleton Copley (1737-1815) and Benjamin West (1738-1820), who succeeded Reynolds as President of the Royal Academy.
In portraiture, however, the true heir of Reynolds was John Hoppner (1758-1810), who, though born at Whitechapel, was from childhood brought in touch with the high personages he was afterwards to paint. His mother was employed at Court, and his father—though there is some mystery about his birth—is said to have been a surgeon. George III was certainly interested in the boy when he was a chorister at the Chapel Royal, and perceiving his aptitude for art he made the lad a small allowance, and in 1765 got him admitted as a student to the Academy’s schools. There Hoppner gained the gold medal in 1782, and later when he settled at 18 Charles Street, St James Square—close to Carlton House—he at once had the favor of the Court. He painted Mrs Jordan for the Prince of Wales, and the three princesses for the King, and soon became the fashion. Though too much influenced by Reynolds to be considered a very original artist, and too hard as a rule in his color and not strong enough in his drawing to be considered that great man’s equal, Hoppner has nevertheless left us many charming portraits, among which ‘The Countess of Oxford’ is usually considered to be his master work. In this thoughtful head we see that Hoppner, like Reynolds, was also a scholar and a thinker, and he not only had great intelligence but the capacity to express his thoughts clearly and well. He was associated with Gifford of the Quarterly Review, to the first numbers of which he contributed some brilliant articles, which to credit to his powers of literary expression, to his artistic judgment, and to his goodness of heart, but, owing to his intimate relationship with this famous Whig periodical and its editor, he gradually lost the favor of the Court, which was given to the Tory party and its protégé, Thomas Lawrence.
Sir Thomas Lawrence (1769-1830), who succeeded West as President of the Royal Academy in 1820, had the romantic career of a child prodigy. His father was an innkeeper who, when young Thomas was three, kept the ‘Black Bear’ at Devizes, where people of fashion used to stay on their way to and from Bath. Though the child got little education, he was wonderfully gifted and a lovely child in appearance. He was petted by his father’s guests and entertained them by quaint recitations and by drawing their likenesses with a precocious skill which soon made the child at the ‘Black Bear’ the talk of the Bath Road. He was allowed to copy pictures i the great houses in the neighborhood before he was ten years old, and once he was taken to London to be exhibited as a phenomenon, for his father, a complete adventurer, lost no opportunity of making money out of his son. Finding his son likely to be more profitable than his innkeeping, the father settled at Bath, where the pretty boy opened a studio and drew heads in charcoal for a guinea apiece.
In 1785, when he was only sixteen, Lawrence began to paint in oils, and two years later his father thought it worth while to remove to London, and this youth of eighteen was given a studio at 4 Leicester Square, near the great Reynolds, upon whom he called, and who was exceedingly kind and encouraging. While continuing to keep his family by the pictures he painted for money, Lawrence was now able to study at the Academy schools. Prosperity increased as his talent matured, and soon after he had turned twenty he took a larger studio at 24 Old Bond Street; he was already the talk of the town and darling of Society. As gracious and charming in his manners as he was in his art, royalty delighted to honor him, and in 1791 George III compelled the Academy to admit him as an Associate, though according to its rules twenty five was the minimum age at which an Associate could be elected, and Lawrence had only just turned twenty two. The King’s will broke through the Academy’s law, and when Reynolds died in the following year, Lawrence, at age of twenty three, was appointed the King’s principal portrait-painter-in-ordinary.
The way was now open for his unbroken triumph. John Opie (1761-1807, the Cornish painter, whose art was much stronger and more robust, might have been a formidable rival had he not been too abrupt and caustic in his speech to please a public that liked to be flattered. It was Opie who, when asked once how he mixed his colors, made the famous reply, ‘With brains, sir.’
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continued)
4
Within the space of this Outline it is not possible to enumerate all the talented painters who made England during the eighteenth century the most prolific country in Europe for the production of notable works of art. The wealth of the country and the patronage extended to art by the Court and Society brought painters from all over the world to London, and in addition to the native-born artists many foreign painters settled in London, among them being the two American historical painters, John Singleton Copley (1737-1815) and Benjamin West (1738-1820), who succeeded Reynolds as President of the Royal Academy.
In portraiture, however, the true heir of Reynolds was John Hoppner (1758-1810), who, though born at Whitechapel, was from childhood brought in touch with the high personages he was afterwards to paint. His mother was employed at Court, and his father—though there is some mystery about his birth—is said to have been a surgeon. George III was certainly interested in the boy when he was a chorister at the Chapel Royal, and perceiving his aptitude for art he made the lad a small allowance, and in 1765 got him admitted as a student to the Academy’s schools. There Hoppner gained the gold medal in 1782, and later when he settled at 18 Charles Street, St James Square—close to Carlton House—he at once had the favor of the Court. He painted Mrs Jordan for the Prince of Wales, and the three princesses for the King, and soon became the fashion. Though too much influenced by Reynolds to be considered a very original artist, and too hard as a rule in his color and not strong enough in his drawing to be considered that great man’s equal, Hoppner has nevertheless left us many charming portraits, among which ‘The Countess of Oxford’ is usually considered to be his master work. In this thoughtful head we see that Hoppner, like Reynolds, was also a scholar and a thinker, and he not only had great intelligence but the capacity to express his thoughts clearly and well. He was associated with Gifford of the Quarterly Review, to the first numbers of which he contributed some brilliant articles, which to credit to his powers of literary expression, to his artistic judgment, and to his goodness of heart, but, owing to his intimate relationship with this famous Whig periodical and its editor, he gradually lost the favor of the Court, which was given to the Tory party and its protégé, Thomas Lawrence.
Sir Thomas Lawrence (1769-1830), who succeeded West as President of the Royal Academy in 1820, had the romantic career of a child prodigy. His father was an innkeeper who, when young Thomas was three, kept the ‘Black Bear’ at Devizes, where people of fashion used to stay on their way to and from Bath. Though the child got little education, he was wonderfully gifted and a lovely child in appearance. He was petted by his father’s guests and entertained them by quaint recitations and by drawing their likenesses with a precocious skill which soon made the child at the ‘Black Bear’ the talk of the Bath Road. He was allowed to copy pictures i the great houses in the neighborhood before he was ten years old, and once he was taken to London to be exhibited as a phenomenon, for his father, a complete adventurer, lost no opportunity of making money out of his son. Finding his son likely to be more profitable than his innkeeping, the father settled at Bath, where the pretty boy opened a studio and drew heads in charcoal for a guinea apiece.
In 1785, when he was only sixteen, Lawrence began to paint in oils, and two years later his father thought it worth while to remove to London, and this youth of eighteen was given a studio at 4 Leicester Square, near the great Reynolds, upon whom he called, and who was exceedingly kind and encouraging. While continuing to keep his family by the pictures he painted for money, Lawrence was now able to study at the Academy schools. Prosperity increased as his talent matured, and soon after he had turned twenty he took a larger studio at 24 Old Bond Street; he was already the talk of the town and darling of Society. As gracious and charming in his manners as he was in his art, royalty delighted to honor him, and in 1791 George III compelled the Academy to admit him as an Associate, though according to its rules twenty five was the minimum age at which an Associate could be elected, and Lawrence had only just turned twenty two. The King’s will broke through the Academy’s law, and when Reynolds died in the following year, Lawrence, at age of twenty three, was appointed the King’s principal portrait-painter-in-ordinary.
The way was now open for his unbroken triumph. John Opie (1761-1807, the Cornish painter, whose art was much stronger and more robust, might have been a formidable rival had he not been too abrupt and caustic in his speech to please a public that liked to be flattered. It was Opie who, when asked once how he mixed his colors, made the famous reply, ‘With brains, sir.’
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continued)
New Geological Age
A new geological age was first suggested by Paul Crutzen in 2002 (a Nobel prize-winning chemist) + he said we should now consider that we are living in the Anthropocene, an age dominated by human activities + I found the Wired article on the same concept @ http://blog.wired.com/wiredscience/2008/01/name-our-age-th.html very interesting.
Useful link:
http://www.newscientist.com/blog/environment
Useful link:
http://www.newscientist.com/blog/environment
Synthetic Sapphire
Sapphire is one of the hardest materials on earth + it measures 9 on the Mohs scale + it is chemically inert + due to its mechanical, optical and structural properties, sapphire is a perfect material for optics, electronics + opto-electronics, fine mechanics and laser technologies + the material is produced by the Kyropulos method to grow high purity large size sapphire single crystals.
Sapphire is the best for:
- Lasers
Optical storages - Medical applications - Laser printers - Military applications
- Light Emitting Diodes (Blue, White, Green, Violet LEDs)
Traffic Lights - Automotive lights - Video display boards - Miniature lamps - General illuminations
- UV detectors
Analytical equipments - Flame detections - Ozone monitors - Pollution monitors
- Integrated circuits
Cellular infrastructure (power amplifiers) - Power Industry (power switches) - Military applications (microwave circuits)
Synthetic sapphire is also widely used in the watch industry.
Sapphire is the best for:
- Lasers
Optical storages - Medical applications - Laser printers - Military applications
- Light Emitting Diodes (Blue, White, Green, Violet LEDs)
Traffic Lights - Automotive lights - Video display boards - Miniature lamps - General illuminations
- UV detectors
Analytical equipments - Flame detections - Ozone monitors - Pollution monitors
- Integrated circuits
Cellular infrastructure (power amplifiers) - Power Industry (power switches) - Military applications (microwave circuits)
Synthetic sapphire is also widely used in the watch industry.
Mineral Sands Deposits
Australia is a world leader in production of mineral sands and has the world’s largest economic demonstrated resources of ilmenite, rutile and zircon with 29%, 44% and 40%, respectively + it produces up to 55 per cent of the world's rutile, 39% of the world's zircon, and about 30 per cent of the world's ilmenite + the other major producers are South Africa (Richards Bay deposit), the United States (Florida), Canada (ilmenite sources from hard rock) and India + most of Australia's rutile and synthetic rutile and about 40 per cent of the ilmenite exports are to the USA, the UK, Japan, Spain and the Netherlands for processing into white, titanium dioxide pigment and titanium metal.
Synthetic rutile was first produced in 1948 and is sold under a variety of names + very pure synthetic rutile is transparent and almost colorless (slightly yellow) in large pieces + synthetic rutile can be made in a variety of colors by doping, although the purest material is almost colorless + the high refractive index gives an adamantine lustre and strong refraction that leads to a diamond-like appearance + the near-colorless diamond substitute is sold under the name Titania, which is the old-fashioned chemical name for this oxide + rutile is seldom used in jewelry because it is not very hard (scratch-resistant), measuring only about 6 on the Mohs hardness scale.
Useful links:
www.australianminesatlas.gov.au
http://www.ga.gov.au/minerals/exploration/resources_advice/AIMR2006.jsp
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rutile
Synthetic rutile was first produced in 1948 and is sold under a variety of names + very pure synthetic rutile is transparent and almost colorless (slightly yellow) in large pieces + synthetic rutile can be made in a variety of colors by doping, although the purest material is almost colorless + the high refractive index gives an adamantine lustre and strong refraction that leads to a diamond-like appearance + the near-colorless diamond substitute is sold under the name Titania, which is the old-fashioned chemical name for this oxide + rutile is seldom used in jewelry because it is not very hard (scratch-resistant), measuring only about 6 on the Mohs hardness scale.
Useful links:
www.australianminesatlas.gov.au
http://www.ga.gov.au/minerals/exploration/resources_advice/AIMR2006.jsp
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rutile
Classical Music Update
I enjoy classical music because of its broad variety of forms + styles + genres + cultural durability. Here is a list:
- Simone Dinnerstein, Bach: The Goldberg Variations
www.simonedinnerstein.com
- Russian National Orchestra, Beethoven: The Nine Symphonies
www.russianarts.org
- Corigliano: Music for String Quartet
www.coriglianoquartet.com
- Lisa Batiashvili, Sibelius and Lindberg Violin Concertos
www.lisabatiashvili.com
www.sibelius.fi
www.yle.fi
- Henry Brant/Charles Ives: A Concord Symphony
www.jaffe.com
www.charlesives.org
- Mozart: Mitridate, Re di Ponto
www.mozartproject.org
- Simone Dinnerstein, Bach: The Goldberg Variations
www.simonedinnerstein.com
- Russian National Orchestra, Beethoven: The Nine Symphonies
www.russianarts.org
- Corigliano: Music for String Quartet
www.coriglianoquartet.com
- Lisa Batiashvili, Sibelius and Lindberg Violin Concertos
www.lisabatiashvili.com
www.sibelius.fi
www.yle.fi
- Henry Brant/Charles Ives: A Concord Symphony
www.jaffe.com
www.charlesives.org
- Mozart: Mitridate, Re di Ponto
www.mozartproject.org
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Billions Of Entrepreneurs
In a great book Billions of Entrepreneurs: How China and India Are Reshaping Their Futures and Yours by Tarun Khanna there are some insights on the two great economies + he compares China and India on a broad range of factors in entrepreneurship, including access to capital, freedom and reliability of information, governmental involvement, and infrastructure + the landscape of big, medium, and small entrepreneurship, including rural health-care initiatives and even Bollywood. I highly recommend it.
Here is what the description of Billions Of Entrepreneurs: How China and India are Reshaping Their Futures--and Yours says (via Harvard Business School Press):
China and India are home to one-third of the world's population. And they're undergoing social and economic revolutions that are capturing the best minds--and money--of Western business. In "Billions of Entrepreneurs," Tarun Khanna examines the entrepreneurial forces driving China's and India's trajectories of development. He shows where these trajectories overlap and complement one another--and where they diverge and compete. He also reveals how Western companies can participate in this development. Through intriguing comparisons, the author probes important differences between China and India in areas such as information and transparency, the roles of capital markets and talent, public and private property rights, social constraints on market forces, attitudes toward expatriates abroad and foreigners at home, entrepreneurial and corporate opportunities, and the importance of urban and rural communities. He explains how these differences will influence China's and India's future development, what the two countries can learn from each other, and how they will ultimately reshape business, politics, and society in the world around them. Engaging and incisive, this book is a critical resource for anyone working in China or India or planning to do business in these two countries.
Here is what the description of Billions Of Entrepreneurs: How China and India are Reshaping Their Futures--and Yours says (via Harvard Business School Press):
China and India are home to one-third of the world's population. And they're undergoing social and economic revolutions that are capturing the best minds--and money--of Western business. In "Billions of Entrepreneurs," Tarun Khanna examines the entrepreneurial forces driving China's and India's trajectories of development. He shows where these trajectories overlap and complement one another--and where they diverge and compete. He also reveals how Western companies can participate in this development. Through intriguing comparisons, the author probes important differences between China and India in areas such as information and transparency, the roles of capital markets and talent, public and private property rights, social constraints on market forces, attitudes toward expatriates abroad and foreigners at home, entrepreneurial and corporate opportunities, and the importance of urban and rural communities. He explains how these differences will influence China's and India's future development, what the two countries can learn from each other, and how they will ultimately reshape business, politics, and society in the world around them. Engaging and incisive, this book is a critical resource for anyone working in China or India or planning to do business in these two countries.
Art Update: India
Here is a list of art houses in India that's worth surfing for modern/contemporary art:
- Osian’s
www.osians.com
- Bid & Hammer
www.bidandhammer.com
-Apparao
www.apparaoart.com
- Emami Chisel Art
www.emamichisel.com
- Osian’s
www.osians.com
- Bid & Hammer
www.bidandhammer.com
-Apparao
www.apparaoart.com
- Emami Chisel Art
www.emamichisel.com
Diamond Market Update
Industry analysts believe 2008 will be a tough year for the trade + jewelry sector due to war in Iraq, Afghanistan, elsewhere + the credit crunch caused by a major downturn in the housing market + Diamond Trading Company’s (DTC) just revised sightholder list + the high gas/metal prices + high labor costs + demographics shift + I think the ones that are going to survive are the ones with good brands/customer base + cash flow.
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
In 1530, a large Table Cut diamond set in a pendant, with drop-shaped pearl hanging below it, was included in the French Crown inventory. The jewel is thought originally to have been among the personal possessions of Queen Claude of France, wife of Francis I and mother of Henry II. In 1531 it was renamed Table de Gêne on the occasion of the marriage of Catherine de Medici to the future Henry II. In 1560 it was listed again, this time as part of a headband belonging to Mary Stuart, wife of their son Francis II. Besides the Table de Gêne, the headband contained six other diamonds, all of approximately the same size, among them the Pointe de Bretagne and the Pointe de Milan, and a thin Table Cut diamond with a lozenge-shaped table facet—a French Cut in modern terminology.
The Table de Gêne was originally described as a High Table Cut (une grande table de dyament haultz de bizeaux). In 1570 the phrase ‘longuet et escornée ďun coing’ was added, indicating that it had a slightly elongated rectangular outline and one blunt corner. Finally, in a hatband made for Elizabeth of Austria, wife of Charles IX of France, the further addition ‘à deux fons’ was made, implying that the pavilion was step cut. In 1576 the whole jewel was pawned to Cardinal Farnese and has never been recovered.
In Thomas Cletscher’s sketchbook there is an illustration of the 36 ct Table Cut diamond known as The Great Pindar or simply as ‘The Great Diamond’. The dimensions of the stone are 19 x 17.5 mm which, according to Jeffries’ chart for a diamond of that weight, indicates that it was a stone of perfect proportions with 45° angles both above and below the girdle. The diamond was considered perfect in every other respect: ‘Heeft en botten hoack, is suijver, schoon water’. Cletscher tells us, and this is confirmed by Gans, that his father-in-law Niccolo Ghysberti (Nicolaes Ghijsbertij), representative of the United Provinces in Constantinople, purchased this stone for Paul Pindar (Pawels Pinder).
Sir Paul Pindar (1565?-1650) was a businessman and a diplomat. In a British warrant of indemnity dated 7 July 1623, there is an entry which clearly refers to the Pindar diamond: ‘A great dyamond sett open, without foyle (this indicates that it had perfect proportions and symmetry) to which is added the least of the three pearles pendante, which did hang at the Portugall dyamond.’ A receipt dated 2 May 1626 states: ‘Received by me Sir Paulo Pindar Knight by ways of defalcation out of the rent of the allomworks payable by me and William Curno Esquire the sum of £9440 in part of payment of a greater sum due to me for a great diamond by me sold to His Majesty. I say received by virtue of His Majesty’s Letters Patents under the great seal of England dated the 10th of August 1625.’ There seems to be some doubt as to the full price agreed, or possibly there were two different stones, but in any case there is no record that Sir Paul ever received the balance due. Clearly Charles I had no hesitation in acquiring jewels for which he had neither the means nor the intention of paying!
It can be fairly confidently assumed that this gem eventually became number two of Mazarin’s famous collection of eighteen diamonds, which he bequeathed to the French Crown. A diamond of the size and splendor of Mazarin’s second could hardly have ‘sprung suddenly upon the world without a history.’ It is more than likely that the Great Pindar was one of the three diamonds, said to have weighed 36 ct each, which Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I, pawned in Amsterdam in 1646. It has been documented that the Sancy and the Mirror of Portugal, both from the English Crown Jewels, were acquired by Cardinal Mazarin, and it is evident that a few more stones in the Cardinal’s collection came from England, too. For obvious reasons their origin was never officially disclosed. At any rate, no other diamond corresponding to the description of The Great Pindar has ever been registered since. Mazarin’s second diamond was recut into a Brilliant in 1774 and became one of the large gems in ‘a white Golden Fleece’ belonging to the French Crown. The large Brilliant was almost certainly The Great Pindar. The jewel was stolen in 1848 and none of the stones has ever been recovered.
Opinions differ as to whether the sitter is Margaret de Medici, daughter of Cosimo II, Grand Duke of Tuscany, and Maria Magdalena of Austria, or Claudia de Medici, daughter of Ferdinand I and Christine of Lorraine. Apart from her magnificent string of pearls, this princess is modest enough to wear no other jewelry except a diamond brooch. The brooch is interesting in that all its gems are Table Cut, even the very smallest. Sustermans painted two other very similar portraits of the same sitter in which she wears a profusion of jewels, all with quite small diamonds which also appear to be Table Cuts. All three portraits are in Florence.
In 1530, a large Table Cut diamond set in a pendant, with drop-shaped pearl hanging below it, was included in the French Crown inventory. The jewel is thought originally to have been among the personal possessions of Queen Claude of France, wife of Francis I and mother of Henry II. In 1531 it was renamed Table de Gêne on the occasion of the marriage of Catherine de Medici to the future Henry II. In 1560 it was listed again, this time as part of a headband belonging to Mary Stuart, wife of their son Francis II. Besides the Table de Gêne, the headband contained six other diamonds, all of approximately the same size, among them the Pointe de Bretagne and the Pointe de Milan, and a thin Table Cut diamond with a lozenge-shaped table facet—a French Cut in modern terminology.
The Table de Gêne was originally described as a High Table Cut (une grande table de dyament haultz de bizeaux). In 1570 the phrase ‘longuet et escornée ďun coing’ was added, indicating that it had a slightly elongated rectangular outline and one blunt corner. Finally, in a hatband made for Elizabeth of Austria, wife of Charles IX of France, the further addition ‘à deux fons’ was made, implying that the pavilion was step cut. In 1576 the whole jewel was pawned to Cardinal Farnese and has never been recovered.
In Thomas Cletscher’s sketchbook there is an illustration of the 36 ct Table Cut diamond known as The Great Pindar or simply as ‘The Great Diamond’. The dimensions of the stone are 19 x 17.5 mm which, according to Jeffries’ chart for a diamond of that weight, indicates that it was a stone of perfect proportions with 45° angles both above and below the girdle. The diamond was considered perfect in every other respect: ‘Heeft en botten hoack, is suijver, schoon water’. Cletscher tells us, and this is confirmed by Gans, that his father-in-law Niccolo Ghysberti (Nicolaes Ghijsbertij), representative of the United Provinces in Constantinople, purchased this stone for Paul Pindar (Pawels Pinder).
Sir Paul Pindar (1565?-1650) was a businessman and a diplomat. In a British warrant of indemnity dated 7 July 1623, there is an entry which clearly refers to the Pindar diamond: ‘A great dyamond sett open, without foyle (this indicates that it had perfect proportions and symmetry) to which is added the least of the three pearles pendante, which did hang at the Portugall dyamond.’ A receipt dated 2 May 1626 states: ‘Received by me Sir Paulo Pindar Knight by ways of defalcation out of the rent of the allomworks payable by me and William Curno Esquire the sum of £9440 in part of payment of a greater sum due to me for a great diamond by me sold to His Majesty. I say received by virtue of His Majesty’s Letters Patents under the great seal of England dated the 10th of August 1625.’ There seems to be some doubt as to the full price agreed, or possibly there were two different stones, but in any case there is no record that Sir Paul ever received the balance due. Clearly Charles I had no hesitation in acquiring jewels for which he had neither the means nor the intention of paying!
It can be fairly confidently assumed that this gem eventually became number two of Mazarin’s famous collection of eighteen diamonds, which he bequeathed to the French Crown. A diamond of the size and splendor of Mazarin’s second could hardly have ‘sprung suddenly upon the world without a history.’ It is more than likely that the Great Pindar was one of the three diamonds, said to have weighed 36 ct each, which Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles I, pawned in Amsterdam in 1646. It has been documented that the Sancy and the Mirror of Portugal, both from the English Crown Jewels, were acquired by Cardinal Mazarin, and it is evident that a few more stones in the Cardinal’s collection came from England, too. For obvious reasons their origin was never officially disclosed. At any rate, no other diamond corresponding to the description of The Great Pindar has ever been registered since. Mazarin’s second diamond was recut into a Brilliant in 1774 and became one of the large gems in ‘a white Golden Fleece’ belonging to the French Crown. The large Brilliant was almost certainly The Great Pindar. The jewel was stolen in 1848 and none of the stones has ever been recovered.
Opinions differ as to whether the sitter is Margaret de Medici, daughter of Cosimo II, Grand Duke of Tuscany, and Maria Magdalena of Austria, or Claudia de Medici, daughter of Ferdinand I and Christine of Lorraine. Apart from her magnificent string of pearls, this princess is modest enough to wear no other jewelry except a diamond brooch. The brooch is interesting in that all its gems are Table Cut, even the very smallest. Sustermans painted two other very similar portraits of the same sitter in which she wears a profusion of jewels, all with quite small diamonds which also appear to be Table Cuts. All three portraits are in Florence.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
2. Pagan Gems And Christian Symbols
And now came about one of the most curious juxtapositions of gems in all history. Bands of Crusaders were constantly going forth to rescue the Holy Land (or perhaps whatever else they came upon) from the infidel. When they returned they brought back, among other loot, vast numbers of precious stones and engraved gems. Religion was militant with a vengeance and the Church benefited by the spoils of war. Gems by the bushel, after being ‘rescued’, found devotional uses in the churches. Yet we should not view these facts with lofty condemnation. To the people of the Middle Ages, it seemed right, and in no way incongruous, that God should be glorified by such offerings. The vestments of the clergy were heavy with gems, and whether or not the beauty of some devotional object was enhanced (generally it was not) by the addition of gems, it was sure to be stuck as full of them as a plum pudding with fruit, and their placement was about as hit or miss.
The bizarre element in this juxtaposition of pagan gems and Christian symbols was that many of the stones brought home by the Crusaders were cameos or intaglios representing a god of Greek or Roman mythology, which was all Greek to the clergy who were ignorant of such matters. Monks and bishops wore rings whose gems bore the likeness of some mythological god or goddess-Hercules, Hermes, Cupid, or even Venus. With a clear conscience the holy men wore their gems to the glory of God and interpreted the carved figures according to their own ideas.
Any figure with wings, such as Cupid or Victory, was an angel. A veiled female was the Madonna or the Magdalene. Figures with crooks were bishops, and the rest were saints. Just how the infidels happened to carve Christian saints and angels in not explained. The age was not too curious. It accepted the most fantastic inventions of imaginations and swallowed them whole.
In the Metropolitan Museum there are some good examples of the ritual paraphernalia of Christian devotion all pranked out (one cannot say ornamented) with cameos. Each cameo is beautiful by itself but in such loud discord both in idea and in style of work with the thing it embellishes that beauty is not achieved. But never mind beauty for the moment; these things are records of the hearts and minds of a bygone age. Their naive incongruity is more subtly expressive than a page from written history.
Among such treasures at the Metropolitan Museum is a triptych about fifteen inches high. Its central panel bears an oblong picture of the Virgin. This is executed in enamel and has the quaint charm of Medieval design. But the Virgin, intended as the focus of attention, is quite overwhelmed and outdone by large crystals cut en cabochon and ancient cameos representing a host of alien deities, including a delightful little Cupid. Crystals and cameos surround the central picture and are set prodigally in both wings of the triptych.
During the crusades, while the high tide of gems pouring in from overseas deluged the Church, there was plenty of overflow for the laity. The costumes of the rich were gorgeous with gold and magnificent jewels; and much of the jewelry was devotional in character. Small diptychs (two leaves closing like a book) with pictured saints inside were encrusted with engraved gems and worn as pendants. There were portable reliquaries of various and sometimes extraordinary shapes also bejeweled with Greek gems.
Relics of saints, spikes from the Crown of Thorns and fragments of the Cross were eagerly sought by pilgrims who came to the Church of St Croce-in-Gerusalemme in Rome; and when, on an Easter Sunday, the True Cross was solemnly exposed to the people ‘their curious devotion was rewarded,’ says Gibbons, ‘by the gift of small pieces, which they encased in gold or gems and carried away in triumph to their respective countries.’
These hollow gems were often bean-shaped and hinged together, forming a case.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continued)
2. Pagan Gems And Christian Symbols
And now came about one of the most curious juxtapositions of gems in all history. Bands of Crusaders were constantly going forth to rescue the Holy Land (or perhaps whatever else they came upon) from the infidel. When they returned they brought back, among other loot, vast numbers of precious stones and engraved gems. Religion was militant with a vengeance and the Church benefited by the spoils of war. Gems by the bushel, after being ‘rescued’, found devotional uses in the churches. Yet we should not view these facts with lofty condemnation. To the people of the Middle Ages, it seemed right, and in no way incongruous, that God should be glorified by such offerings. The vestments of the clergy were heavy with gems, and whether or not the beauty of some devotional object was enhanced (generally it was not) by the addition of gems, it was sure to be stuck as full of them as a plum pudding with fruit, and their placement was about as hit or miss.
The bizarre element in this juxtaposition of pagan gems and Christian symbols was that many of the stones brought home by the Crusaders were cameos or intaglios representing a god of Greek or Roman mythology, which was all Greek to the clergy who were ignorant of such matters. Monks and bishops wore rings whose gems bore the likeness of some mythological god or goddess-Hercules, Hermes, Cupid, or even Venus. With a clear conscience the holy men wore their gems to the glory of God and interpreted the carved figures according to their own ideas.
Any figure with wings, such as Cupid or Victory, was an angel. A veiled female was the Madonna or the Magdalene. Figures with crooks were bishops, and the rest were saints. Just how the infidels happened to carve Christian saints and angels in not explained. The age was not too curious. It accepted the most fantastic inventions of imaginations and swallowed them whole.
In the Metropolitan Museum there are some good examples of the ritual paraphernalia of Christian devotion all pranked out (one cannot say ornamented) with cameos. Each cameo is beautiful by itself but in such loud discord both in idea and in style of work with the thing it embellishes that beauty is not achieved. But never mind beauty for the moment; these things are records of the hearts and minds of a bygone age. Their naive incongruity is more subtly expressive than a page from written history.
Among such treasures at the Metropolitan Museum is a triptych about fifteen inches high. Its central panel bears an oblong picture of the Virgin. This is executed in enamel and has the quaint charm of Medieval design. But the Virgin, intended as the focus of attention, is quite overwhelmed and outdone by large crystals cut en cabochon and ancient cameos representing a host of alien deities, including a delightful little Cupid. Crystals and cameos surround the central picture and are set prodigally in both wings of the triptych.
During the crusades, while the high tide of gems pouring in from overseas deluged the Church, there was plenty of overflow for the laity. The costumes of the rich were gorgeous with gold and magnificent jewels; and much of the jewelry was devotional in character. Small diptychs (two leaves closing like a book) with pictured saints inside were encrusted with engraved gems and worn as pendants. There were portable reliquaries of various and sometimes extraordinary shapes also bejeweled with Greek gems.
Relics of saints, spikes from the Crown of Thorns and fragments of the Cross were eagerly sought by pilgrims who came to the Church of St Croce-in-Gerusalemme in Rome; and when, on an Easter Sunday, the True Cross was solemnly exposed to the people ‘their curious devotion was rewarded,’ says Gibbons, ‘by the gift of small pieces, which they encased in gold or gems and carried away in triumph to their respective countries.’
These hollow gems were often bean-shaped and hinged together, forming a case.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continued)
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
3
The greatest portrait painter that Scotland has ever produced, Sir Henry Raeburn, R.A., belonged to a younger generation than any of the artists whose lives we have so far recounted. Raeburn was born at Stockbridge, a suburb of Edinburgh, on March 4, 1756, and so was thirty three years younger than Reynolds, twenty nine years younger than Gainsborough, and twenty two years younger than Romney. His father, a well-to-do manufacturer, died when young Henry was six, and his elder brother then looked after him, had him educated at Heriot’s School—where he showed his leaning by making caricatures of his masters and school fellows—and apprenticed him at the age of fifteen to an Edinburgh goldsmith. There he also began to paint miniatures, and these gradually attracted attention till Raeburn broadened out into oil portraits and landscapes.
Like Gainsborough, he loved to ramble about the countryside sketching, and in one of his open-air sketches he introduced the figure of a charming young lady whom he had seen crossing the meadow. Some time later this young lady presented herself at Raeburn’s studio to have her portrait painted. She was the widow of a wealthy Frenchman, Count Leslie, but herself a Scottish girl, her maiden name having been Ann Edgar. During their sittings the artist and his model fell deeply in love with each other; there was no one to hinder their union, so they were quickly married, and at the age of twenty two young Raeburn found himself the possessor of a charming wife, a fine house at Edinburgh, and a comfortable income which made ‘potboiling’ unnecessary.
Under these happy circumstances he rapidly came to the front as a portrait painter. About 1785 he visited London and called on Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, himself now almost an Old Master, showed the young artist every possible kindness and gave him much good advice. Reynolds urged him to visit Rome and ‘saturate’ himself in Michael Angelo, generously offering to lend him money for the journey. This, however, Raeburn did not need, but he followed the advice of the veteran, and went to Rome, where he remained for nearly two years and greatly strengthened his art. In 1787 he returned to Edinburgh and soon after, inheriting some property from his brother, he built himself the splendid studio and picture gallery in York Place, which still stands and is known as ‘Raeburn House.’
From this time on till the day of his death in 1823, the career of Raeburn was an unbroken sequence of happiness and success. Acting, it is said, on the advice of Lawrence, he wisely preferred to be the best painter in Edinburgh rather than one of several good painters in London. But though he never resided in England, he exhibited regularly at the Academy from 1792 to the year of his death; he was elected an Associate in 1812 and made a full Academician three years later. He was knighted when George IV visited Edinburgh in 1822 and soon afterwards appointed His Majesty’s Limner for Scotland.
Raeburn was probably wise to remain in Scotland, for it is by no means certain that the rugged truthfulness which was the chief characteristic of his portraiture would have pleased London society. He was the most vigorous of all the eighteenth-century British portrait-painters, and none of them succeeded so well as he did in setting on canvas the splendid figure of a man. Though he has left us many noble and dignified paintings of women, Raeburn is held to have excelled himself in male portraitures, and his masterpiece, ‘Sir John Sinclair’, can hold its own for vitality, solidity, and dignity with any painted man in existence.
Raeburn was one of the most methodical and industrious of all the world’s great portrait-painters. He rose at seven, breakfasted at eight, entered his studio at nine, and worked there till five in the afternoon. It is said that he spent more time looking at his sitters than in painting them, for he would search the countenance before him till he had penetrated to the character of the person, and the beginning with forehead, chin, nose, and mouth, he would paint away rapidly, never making any preliminary drawing, and never using a mahl-stick to support his brush. His method was free and vigorous, and the results he obtained by it preserved the freedom and vigor of his process.
Though money is not everything in art, it is a rough-and-ready index to the estimation in which a painter is held, and therefore it may be mentioned here that the saleroom record for a British portrait was made in 1911 by a Raeburn, which fetched 22300 guineas at Christie’s.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continued)
3
The greatest portrait painter that Scotland has ever produced, Sir Henry Raeburn, R.A., belonged to a younger generation than any of the artists whose lives we have so far recounted. Raeburn was born at Stockbridge, a suburb of Edinburgh, on March 4, 1756, and so was thirty three years younger than Reynolds, twenty nine years younger than Gainsborough, and twenty two years younger than Romney. His father, a well-to-do manufacturer, died when young Henry was six, and his elder brother then looked after him, had him educated at Heriot’s School—where he showed his leaning by making caricatures of his masters and school fellows—and apprenticed him at the age of fifteen to an Edinburgh goldsmith. There he also began to paint miniatures, and these gradually attracted attention till Raeburn broadened out into oil portraits and landscapes.
Like Gainsborough, he loved to ramble about the countryside sketching, and in one of his open-air sketches he introduced the figure of a charming young lady whom he had seen crossing the meadow. Some time later this young lady presented herself at Raeburn’s studio to have her portrait painted. She was the widow of a wealthy Frenchman, Count Leslie, but herself a Scottish girl, her maiden name having been Ann Edgar. During their sittings the artist and his model fell deeply in love with each other; there was no one to hinder their union, so they were quickly married, and at the age of twenty two young Raeburn found himself the possessor of a charming wife, a fine house at Edinburgh, and a comfortable income which made ‘potboiling’ unnecessary.
Under these happy circumstances he rapidly came to the front as a portrait painter. About 1785 he visited London and called on Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, himself now almost an Old Master, showed the young artist every possible kindness and gave him much good advice. Reynolds urged him to visit Rome and ‘saturate’ himself in Michael Angelo, generously offering to lend him money for the journey. This, however, Raeburn did not need, but he followed the advice of the veteran, and went to Rome, where he remained for nearly two years and greatly strengthened his art. In 1787 he returned to Edinburgh and soon after, inheriting some property from his brother, he built himself the splendid studio and picture gallery in York Place, which still stands and is known as ‘Raeburn House.’
From this time on till the day of his death in 1823, the career of Raeburn was an unbroken sequence of happiness and success. Acting, it is said, on the advice of Lawrence, he wisely preferred to be the best painter in Edinburgh rather than one of several good painters in London. But though he never resided in England, he exhibited regularly at the Academy from 1792 to the year of his death; he was elected an Associate in 1812 and made a full Academician three years later. He was knighted when George IV visited Edinburgh in 1822 and soon afterwards appointed His Majesty’s Limner for Scotland.
Raeburn was probably wise to remain in Scotland, for it is by no means certain that the rugged truthfulness which was the chief characteristic of his portraiture would have pleased London society. He was the most vigorous of all the eighteenth-century British portrait-painters, and none of them succeeded so well as he did in setting on canvas the splendid figure of a man. Though he has left us many noble and dignified paintings of women, Raeburn is held to have excelled himself in male portraitures, and his masterpiece, ‘Sir John Sinclair’, can hold its own for vitality, solidity, and dignity with any painted man in existence.
Raeburn was one of the most methodical and industrious of all the world’s great portrait-painters. He rose at seven, breakfasted at eight, entered his studio at nine, and worked there till five in the afternoon. It is said that he spent more time looking at his sitters than in painting them, for he would search the countenance before him till he had penetrated to the character of the person, and the beginning with forehead, chin, nose, and mouth, he would paint away rapidly, never making any preliminary drawing, and never using a mahl-stick to support his brush. His method was free and vigorous, and the results he obtained by it preserved the freedom and vigor of his process.
Though money is not everything in art, it is a rough-and-ready index to the estimation in which a painter is held, and therefore it may be mentioned here that the saleroom record for a British portrait was made in 1911 by a Raeburn, which fetched 22300 guineas at Christie’s.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continued)
Free Music
Radiohead started the trend when they offered their album In Rainbows on the internet last year for whatever price listeners were willing to pay + now a host of new services, with the backing of major labels, are promising to revolutionise how music is distributed by offering millions of tracks for nothing (hard to believe!) + the move into a free service is a sea change for an industry which spent years fighting through the courts with companies offering free internet downloading and sharing of songs.
Free Music @
Qtrax.com
We7.com
Imeem.com
Last.fm
Free Music @
Qtrax.com
We7.com
Imeem.com
Last.fm
Ivanka Trump Collection
Ivanka Trump has a new jewelry line + a magic mix and match of old-Hollywood glamor with new concepts, with more emphasis on diamonds, pearls and black onyx + I think it may appeal to women of all ages who enjoy beautiful jewelry.
Useful link:
www.ivankatrumpcollection.com
Useful link:
www.ivankatrumpcollection.com
Sense Of Smell
Retail jeweler (s) are on the scenting bandwagon because consumers are more likely to linger in a store that smells nice + increased browsing time raises the chances that consumers may make a purchase + I think the scenting evolution may be the tip of the iceberg--a unique tool to create customer loyalty.
A few interesting facts about our sense of smell:
- People recall smells with about 65% accuracy after a year, compared to 50% for visual recall of pictures after about three months.
- A woman's sense of smell is keener than a man's.
- Your sense of smell is least acute in the morning; ability to perceive odors increases as the day wears on.
- The average human being is able to detect about 10000 different odors.
- No two people smell the same odor the same way.
Useful link:
www.senseofsmell.org
A few interesting facts about our sense of smell:
- People recall smells with about 65% accuracy after a year, compared to 50% for visual recall of pictures after about three months.
- A woman's sense of smell is keener than a man's.
- Your sense of smell is least acute in the morning; ability to perceive odors increases as the day wears on.
- The average human being is able to detect about 10000 different odors.
- No two people smell the same odor the same way.
Useful link:
www.senseofsmell.org
Diamonds Class Action
If you purchased a gem diamond or diamond jewelry between January 1, 1994 and March 31, 2006, you may have a claim to receive benefits in a proposed class action settlement. The case is called Sullivan v. DB Investments, Inc., Civil Action Index No.04-2819 (SRC). These lawsuits are about gem diamond pricing, and the proposed settlement is with De Beers, a miner and seller of rough gem diamonds.
To get complete information about the Class Actions and your rights + to see if you qualify to receive a cash payment, you should visit www.diamondsclassaction.com
To get complete information about the Class Actions and your rights + to see if you qualify to receive a cash payment, you should visit www.diamondsclassaction.com
Monday, January 28, 2008
Irma Stern
The Economist writes about Irma Stern, the grande dame of South African painting + other viewpoints @ http://www.economist.com/daily/columns/artview/displaystory.cfm?story_id=10592115
Useful link:
www.irmastern.co.za
Useful link:
www.irmastern.co.za
Gold Update
Gold prices will continue to rise because three South African gold miners, Gold Fields (GFI) + Harmony (HAR) + AngloGold Ashanti (ANG) have stopped production at all of their local mines due to inadequate power supplies + global gold production fell to a ten-year low + the Chinese traders are busy buying gold for the upcoming New Year, which is in the first week of February.
Useful links:
www.goldfields.co.za
www.ashantigold.com
www.harmony.co.za
Useful links:
www.goldfields.co.za
www.ashantigold.com
www.harmony.co.za
World's Greenest Countries
(via Newsweek) The Yale Center for Environmental Law and Policy released its first official Environmental Performance Index + the list uses a variety of metrics, including carbon and sulfur emissions + water purity and conservation practices, to calculate an overall score for each country.
Useful links:
Yale's EPI Web site
www.epa.gov
Useful links:
Yale's EPI Web site
www.epa.gov
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
A most unusual agraffe, made in 1603 by the Augsburg master goldsmith, hans Georg Beuerl, can be seen today in the Schatzkammer der Residenz, Munich. Set with 245 diamonds, this enormous jewel weighs 410 grams (just under a pound) and is 17.5 cm high. My assistant U.-J.Petterson and I were given special permission to examine this ‘War Trophy’, as it is sometimes called. We worked at night, after the museum was closed, fully equipped with polaroid camera, wax and plaster for taking prints and making models, jeweler’s tools, etc. Our first discovery was a horrifying one—several of the diamonds were missing! We stayed in the museum all night in order to prove in the morning that we had not removed them. It is astonishing to think that the absence of these stones had not previously been noticed.
The description given here is based on our study of this magnificent jewel, which represents a trophy of weapons with cuirass and helmet, set all over with diamonds. In addition, six pearls adorn the upper part. The composition is dominated by large Table Cuts of exceptionally fine make, but also contains a whole collection of different contemporary cuts, all beautifully fashioned: Star Cuts, Trihedrally Faceted Lozenges, Kites, Triangles and, last but not least, small Table Cuts which closely resemble similar modern cuts. One of the Baguettes, though only 2mm wide, is a full 12mm long. The largest of the Tables is nearly 16mm square—the same size as the famous diamond in the The Three Brethren, said in its time to be the largest diamond in Christendom. According to Lord Twining, the diamond on the trophy weighs 18ct. As a matter of interest, the diamond in the The Three Brethren, though of the same dimensions, weighed 30ct because it was a Pyramidal Point Cut whereas that in the agraffe is a Table.
The cross, worn by Marie de Medici in a portrait painted between 1612 and 1614 by Frans Pourbus the Younger (Musée du Louvre, Paris), was never documented in an inventory but, according to Bapst, besides being depicted on Marie de Medici’s coronation robe in this portrait, it also appeared in a portrait of Anne of Austria. It is quite possible that the jewel included the five Table Cut diamonds of the Great Cross owned by Francis I. The cross was apparently broken up after Anne’s death, since it is not listed in the Crown inventory of 1691. The diamonds were set in the new style, close to each other in barely visible box settings. The four triangular mirror-cut diamonds at the extremities of the cross emphasize the very regular arrangement of the square gems. The three large drop-shaped pearls appear to be of exceptional quality and add to the magnificence of the jewel.
The beautifully enamelled portable set of gold flatware (from a Renaissance cutlery set, 17.3 cm long—Grϋnes Gewölbe, Dresden) is thought to have been made in Nuremberg in about 1600. In 1724 it was given as a birthday present to King Augustus I of Poland, Elector of Saxony, by the wife of Crown Marshall Mnisczek of Warsaw. Originally there was a toothpick inserted in the handle, with the image of a kneeling princess as its knob. The spoon shown is decorated with High Table Cuts and similarly fashioned rubies.
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners (continued)
A most unusual agraffe, made in 1603 by the Augsburg master goldsmith, hans Georg Beuerl, can be seen today in the Schatzkammer der Residenz, Munich. Set with 245 diamonds, this enormous jewel weighs 410 grams (just under a pound) and is 17.5 cm high. My assistant U.-J.Petterson and I were given special permission to examine this ‘War Trophy’, as it is sometimes called. We worked at night, after the museum was closed, fully equipped with polaroid camera, wax and plaster for taking prints and making models, jeweler’s tools, etc. Our first discovery was a horrifying one—several of the diamonds were missing! We stayed in the museum all night in order to prove in the morning that we had not removed them. It is astonishing to think that the absence of these stones had not previously been noticed.
The description given here is based on our study of this magnificent jewel, which represents a trophy of weapons with cuirass and helmet, set all over with diamonds. In addition, six pearls adorn the upper part. The composition is dominated by large Table Cuts of exceptionally fine make, but also contains a whole collection of different contemporary cuts, all beautifully fashioned: Star Cuts, Trihedrally Faceted Lozenges, Kites, Triangles and, last but not least, small Table Cuts which closely resemble similar modern cuts. One of the Baguettes, though only 2mm wide, is a full 12mm long. The largest of the Tables is nearly 16mm square—the same size as the famous diamond in the The Three Brethren, said in its time to be the largest diamond in Christendom. According to Lord Twining, the diamond on the trophy weighs 18ct. As a matter of interest, the diamond in the The Three Brethren, though of the same dimensions, weighed 30ct because it was a Pyramidal Point Cut whereas that in the agraffe is a Table.
The cross, worn by Marie de Medici in a portrait painted between 1612 and 1614 by Frans Pourbus the Younger (Musée du Louvre, Paris), was never documented in an inventory but, according to Bapst, besides being depicted on Marie de Medici’s coronation robe in this portrait, it also appeared in a portrait of Anne of Austria. It is quite possible that the jewel included the five Table Cut diamonds of the Great Cross owned by Francis I. The cross was apparently broken up after Anne’s death, since it is not listed in the Crown inventory of 1691. The diamonds were set in the new style, close to each other in barely visible box settings. The four triangular mirror-cut diamonds at the extremities of the cross emphasize the very regular arrangement of the square gems. The three large drop-shaped pearls appear to be of exceptional quality and add to the magnificence of the jewel.
The beautifully enamelled portable set of gold flatware (from a Renaissance cutlery set, 17.3 cm long—Grϋnes Gewölbe, Dresden) is thought to have been made in Nuremberg in about 1600. In 1724 it was given as a birthday present to King Augustus I of Poland, Elector of Saxony, by the wife of Crown Marshall Mnisczek of Warsaw. Originally there was a toothpick inserted in the handle, with the image of a kneeling princess as its knob. The spoon shown is decorated with High Table Cuts and similarly fashioned rubies.
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners (continued)
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
1. The Goldsmith-Monk
The introduction of Christianity gave a fresh impetus and spread new fields for arts. There were churches to be built and decorated. A demand arose for architects, sculptors, painters, embroiderers, glassmen, woodcarvers, goldsmiths and a host of other skilled artists and craftsmen to create a building worthy to be called the House of God. It seems fitting that the men with the widest knowledge of the work required should be the artist-monks. Many of them were traveling missionaries.
In the eleventh century there lived one of these monks known as Theophilus, who not only traveled far and wide, but thoughtfully jotted down in his notebook whatever he found of interest concerning the arts of different countries. His manuscripts, preserved in numerous ancient copies, have become invaluable as a faithful record of the methods of work employed by craftsmen who lived nine hundred years ago.
Theophilus, in his preface, charges the reader to ‘covet with greedy looks this (his) Book of Various Arts, read it thoroughly with a tenacious memory, embrace it with ardent love,’ and:
Should you carefully peruse this, you will find out whatever Greece possesses in kinds and mixtures of various colors, whatever Tuscany knows on in mosaic work, or in variety of enamel; whatever Arabia shows forth in work of fusion, ductility, or chasing; whatever Italy ornaments with gold, in diversity of vases and sculpture of gems or ivory; whatever France loves in a costly variety of windows; whatever industrious Germany approves in work of gold, silver, copper and iron, of woods and of stones.
Then follows a detailed description of the goldsmith’s workshop, his bellows, anvil, hammers and other tools, which include ‘an instrument through which wires are drawn.’
Like the jewelers of the Pharaohs, the jeweler of medieval times was expected to be goldsmith, designer, sculptor, smelter, enameler inlay-worker, and an expert in the cutting and mounting of gemstones. As you read Theophilus you are impressed anew with the versatility of the jewelry-maker of past ages.
It must be admitted, however, that although the ancient goldsmiths achieved results and the good Theophilus tells how they did it, yet their practices were at times fraught with certain customs which smack of something akin to quackery. Not that they did not themselves profoundly believe in the efficacy of such practices. They did. But a certain amount of hocus-pocus was inevitably mixed with all the learning of that day. When the twentieth century becomes ‘ancient times’ will anything like that be said of our science and learning?
We are allowed a glimpse of Theophilus’ innocent necromancy, when swelling with pride he discloses a trade secret:
Who should desire to cut with iron the rare stones—which the rulers of Rome, who formerly sustained the noble arts, much delighted in, upon gold, let him know the invention, which I with profound thought have discovered, which is very precious. I procure urinam with the fresh blood of a lusty goat, fed for a short time upon ivy, which being done, I cut the gems in the warm blood, as the author Pliny has pointed out, who wrote upon the arts, which the Roman people put to proof, and who likewise well described the virtue of stones; he who knows the powers of which favors them the more.
Concerning rock crystal, Theophilus advises the lapidary:
But should you wish to sculp crystal, take a goat of two or three years and, binding his feet, cut an opening between his breast and stomach in the position of the heart, and lay in the crystal, so that it may lie in its blood until it grows warm. Taking it out directly, cut what you please in it as long as the heat lasts, and when it has begun to grow cold and to harden, replace it again in the blood of goat....
And so on until you have completed the work of art and are ready to polish it ‘with a linen cloth’. Needless to say, there was no S.P.C.A in those days.
During the Middle Ages, although the glyptic art was saved from entire extinction—largely by the monk-craftsman—still it sank so far into oblivion that generally speaking it is said to have been lost. Indeed, so little was the art understood, that some men, even men of intelligence, supposed the engraving on an ancient gem to be the work of nature—like the pattern on a butterfly’s wing.
Many pages of Theophilus’ manuscript are given over to recipes for making glass gems and colorful enamels. He even tells how to make ornamental finger rings of colored glass, set with glass gems.
Naturally whatever art a monk practised he used for the glory of his church. Therefore the goldsmith lavished his most elaborate art on ecclesiastical jewels. But he also worked for private patrons. Both the craftsman’s and the layman’s ideas of beauty were strongly influenced by the sumptuous objects designed for religious purposes.
The very center and focusing point of art was the Church. Paintings, statues, textiles, stained glass, and jeweled metalwork—in fact the major works of almost all the artists in Christendom—gravitated toward the Church, or were related to religious ideas.
Between the eleventh and the fifteenth centuries the link binding craftsman and church together was strenghtened by demands for the building and decoration of great cathedrals. The architect left space in the walls for picture windows of gorgeous jewel-like glass. Altars were profusely decorated, panels were painted and encrusted with gems, images occupied niches canopied by stone, carved with the delicate intricacy of lace. To the marvelous cathedral of Chartres came pilgrims by the thousands, bringing as offerings the richest of silks and embroideries, and splendid jewels with which to deck the images of saints or the vestments of priests, or to be set as ornament on any object used in the ritual of worship.
Certain patterns and styles of design employed for the decoration of churches were mirrored in the things of everyday life. Even the costumes of the period reflected the Gothic art. The head-dresses of women resembled architectural structures; the patterns on their gowns imitated those on stained-glass windows; and as for the jewelry, that more than anything else fell under the prevailing influence. Even the images of saints, stone canopies and all, were wrought in miniatures of gold and worn as brooches or pendants.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continue)
1. The Goldsmith-Monk
The introduction of Christianity gave a fresh impetus and spread new fields for arts. There were churches to be built and decorated. A demand arose for architects, sculptors, painters, embroiderers, glassmen, woodcarvers, goldsmiths and a host of other skilled artists and craftsmen to create a building worthy to be called the House of God. It seems fitting that the men with the widest knowledge of the work required should be the artist-monks. Many of them were traveling missionaries.
In the eleventh century there lived one of these monks known as Theophilus, who not only traveled far and wide, but thoughtfully jotted down in his notebook whatever he found of interest concerning the arts of different countries. His manuscripts, preserved in numerous ancient copies, have become invaluable as a faithful record of the methods of work employed by craftsmen who lived nine hundred years ago.
Theophilus, in his preface, charges the reader to ‘covet with greedy looks this (his) Book of Various Arts, read it thoroughly with a tenacious memory, embrace it with ardent love,’ and:
Should you carefully peruse this, you will find out whatever Greece possesses in kinds and mixtures of various colors, whatever Tuscany knows on in mosaic work, or in variety of enamel; whatever Arabia shows forth in work of fusion, ductility, or chasing; whatever Italy ornaments with gold, in diversity of vases and sculpture of gems or ivory; whatever France loves in a costly variety of windows; whatever industrious Germany approves in work of gold, silver, copper and iron, of woods and of stones.
Then follows a detailed description of the goldsmith’s workshop, his bellows, anvil, hammers and other tools, which include ‘an instrument through which wires are drawn.’
Like the jewelers of the Pharaohs, the jeweler of medieval times was expected to be goldsmith, designer, sculptor, smelter, enameler inlay-worker, and an expert in the cutting and mounting of gemstones. As you read Theophilus you are impressed anew with the versatility of the jewelry-maker of past ages.
It must be admitted, however, that although the ancient goldsmiths achieved results and the good Theophilus tells how they did it, yet their practices were at times fraught with certain customs which smack of something akin to quackery. Not that they did not themselves profoundly believe in the efficacy of such practices. They did. But a certain amount of hocus-pocus was inevitably mixed with all the learning of that day. When the twentieth century becomes ‘ancient times’ will anything like that be said of our science and learning?
We are allowed a glimpse of Theophilus’ innocent necromancy, when swelling with pride he discloses a trade secret:
Who should desire to cut with iron the rare stones—which the rulers of Rome, who formerly sustained the noble arts, much delighted in, upon gold, let him know the invention, which I with profound thought have discovered, which is very precious. I procure urinam with the fresh blood of a lusty goat, fed for a short time upon ivy, which being done, I cut the gems in the warm blood, as the author Pliny has pointed out, who wrote upon the arts, which the Roman people put to proof, and who likewise well described the virtue of stones; he who knows the powers of which favors them the more.
Concerning rock crystal, Theophilus advises the lapidary:
But should you wish to sculp crystal, take a goat of two or three years and, binding his feet, cut an opening between his breast and stomach in the position of the heart, and lay in the crystal, so that it may lie in its blood until it grows warm. Taking it out directly, cut what you please in it as long as the heat lasts, and when it has begun to grow cold and to harden, replace it again in the blood of goat....
And so on until you have completed the work of art and are ready to polish it ‘with a linen cloth’. Needless to say, there was no S.P.C.A in those days.
During the Middle Ages, although the glyptic art was saved from entire extinction—largely by the monk-craftsman—still it sank so far into oblivion that generally speaking it is said to have been lost. Indeed, so little was the art understood, that some men, even men of intelligence, supposed the engraving on an ancient gem to be the work of nature—like the pattern on a butterfly’s wing.
Many pages of Theophilus’ manuscript are given over to recipes for making glass gems and colorful enamels. He even tells how to make ornamental finger rings of colored glass, set with glass gems.
Naturally whatever art a monk practised he used for the glory of his church. Therefore the goldsmith lavished his most elaborate art on ecclesiastical jewels. But he also worked for private patrons. Both the craftsman’s and the layman’s ideas of beauty were strongly influenced by the sumptuous objects designed for religious purposes.
The very center and focusing point of art was the Church. Paintings, statues, textiles, stained glass, and jeweled metalwork—in fact the major works of almost all the artists in Christendom—gravitated toward the Church, or were related to religious ideas.
Between the eleventh and the fifteenth centuries the link binding craftsman and church together was strenghtened by demands for the building and decoration of great cathedrals. The architect left space in the walls for picture windows of gorgeous jewel-like glass. Altars were profusely decorated, panels were painted and encrusted with gems, images occupied niches canopied by stone, carved with the delicate intricacy of lace. To the marvelous cathedral of Chartres came pilgrims by the thousands, bringing as offerings the richest of silks and embroideries, and splendid jewels with which to deck the images of saints or the vestments of priests, or to be set as ornament on any object used in the ritual of worship.
Certain patterns and styles of design employed for the decoration of churches were mirrored in the things of everyday life. Even the costumes of the period reflected the Gothic art. The head-dresses of women resembled architectural structures; the patterns on their gowns imitated those on stained-glass windows; and as for the jewelry, that more than anything else fell under the prevailing influence. Even the images of saints, stone canopies and all, were wrought in miniatures of gold and worn as brooches or pendants.
Jewelers Of The Middle Ages (continue)
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
2
The third great English portrait-painter of the eighteenth century was George Romney, who never exhibited at the Royal Academy, and all his life was hostile to that institution and to its president, Sir Joshua Reynolds. Romney was born at Dalton-in-Furness, Lancashire, in 1734, when Reynolds was a boy of eleven and Gainsborough a child of seven. He was one of eleven children, and his father was a man of many occupations—farmer, builder, cabinet-maker, and dealer—and little prosperous in anything he undertook. George Romney consequently had his education neglected: at eleven years old he was helping his father in the workshop, and there he displayed precocious ability in drawing portraits of the workmen and other people. When he was twenty he made acquaintance of a vagabond artist named Christopher Steele, who journeyed from place to place making portraits, and in 1755 this man secured Romney as his pupil and took him with him on his travels. In the following year Romney fell ill with a fever and was tenderly nursed by his landlady’s daughter, a domestic servant named Mary Abbott, and being a highly-strung romantic youth Romney married this girl in the first burst of his gratitude, and later found her utterly unsuited to be his mate. Steele meanwhile had settled at York and summoned Romney to join him there as soon as he was well enough, and since he was not earning enough to keep a wife Mrs Romney had to go back to service when her husband rejoined the man to whom he was apprenticed.
There was little good that Steele, a mediocre artist and a loose liver, could teach Romney, and their association was more profitable to the older than the younger man, and after a year or two in bondage at York, Romney managed to purchase his freedom, and he then made a home for his wife at Kendal. With this town as his headquarters, he rambled about the Lake Country painting heads at £2 2s. each and small full lengths at £6 6s., till in 1762 he had at last managed to save a hundred pounds.
Romney was now twenty eight, and he felt that if ever he was to make his fortune by his art he must seek it in London. So giving £70 to his wife, with the remaining £30 he came to the capital, where he at once competed for a prize offered by the Society of Arts for an historical picture on ‘The Death of Wolfe.’ Romney was at first awarded a prize of fifty guineas for his version of this theme, but later the judges reversed their verdict and awarded the fifty guineas to John Hamilton Mortimer (1741-79), a young friend of Richard Wilson and Reynolds, and gave Romney only a consolation prize of twenty five guineas. Romney, not unnaturally, believed this reversal of the first judgment to be the result of favoritism, and to to the end of his life he thought that it had been brought about by Reynolds, who had been actuated by fear of a rival. In 1766 Romney again gained a premium for his ‘Death of King Edward’ from the Society of Arts, to which he was now admitted a member, and henceforward he exhibited regularly at the Society’s exhibitions, but always held aloof from the Academy. In 1767 he paid a visit to his wife and two daughters at Kendal, and returning alone to London soon established himself in public favor, and in the early ‘seventies he was making over a thousand a year by his profession. He thought the time had now come when he should visit Italy, and in March 1773 he set off for that country in the company of a brother artist, Ozias Humphrey (1742-1810), who afterwards became a famous miniature-painter. At Rome, Romney separated himself from his fellow traveler and led a hermit’s life, shunning the society of his compatriots, and giving his whole time to work and study. In 1775 he made his way back to England via Venice and Parma, studying with advantage the work of Correggio in the latter city, and reaching London in the month of July. Greatly improved now in his coloring and confident in his increased knowledge and power, Romney boldly took the house and studio of Francis Cotes, R.A (1725-70), who had been one of the chief of the older portrait-painters, at 32 Cavendish Square, and there seriously entered into competition with Reynolds. Gainsborough, it will be remembered, did not come to London till 1779, so that Romney, though the younger man, was the first formidable rival that Reynolds had to endure. Charging £15 15s. for head life-size, Romney soon found himself surrounded by sitters, and Reynolds was alarmed at the way in which his practice for a time was diminished by the painter to whom he contemptuously referred as ‘the man in Cavendish Square’. Later Romney had so many commissions that he was able to put up his prices, but even so he received only about 80 guineas for the full-length portraits which now fetch many thousands of pounds when they are sold by auction at Christie’s. When Reynolds died he left a fortune of £80000 earned by his brush, and though Romney was not successful to this extent he made a good living, his income in the year 1785 being £3635.
But Romney was never a mere money-grubber, and when at the age of forty-eight he first met his most famous sitter, the dazzlingly beautiful Emma Lyon, known to history as Lady Hamilton, he was so fascinated by her extraordinary personality, that time after time he refused all kinds of wealthy sitters in order that he might continue uninterruptedly to paint the lovely Emma. In 1882 the future Lady Hamilton was a mere girl of twenty or twenty one, living under the protection of Charles Grevile, who four years later—when he was in money difficulties—heartlessly handed her over to his uncle, Sir William Hamilton, who treated her more kindly and honorably. For five years Romney painted this fascinating creature continually in a variety of characters, and though gossip soon busied itself making scandal out of their relations, there is no evidence that the painter’s affection for her was anything but platonic. Of his many paintings of her, one of the most charming, the ‘Lady Hamilton’ is in the National Portrait Gallery.
In the art of George Romney there is a peculiar feminine quality which gives an extraordinary winsomeness, almost a pathos, to his paintings of frail women. There is a paternal tenderness rather than the passion of a lover in his paintings of Emma Hamilton and of another famous beauty, Mrs Robinson, known as ‘Perdita’. Romney’s beautiful portrait of the last in the Wallace Collection was done while this gifted actress was under the protection of the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV. But that royal rascal soon tired of her, and at the age of twenty four she had already been abandoned by ‘the first gentleman in Europe’. When he sent her away the Prince gave her a bond for £20000; but he never paid it, and ‘Perdita’ Robinson died in 1800, poor and paralysed.
Nobody has yet discovered who was the original of Romney’s most famous masterpiece, ‘The Parson’s Daughter’, but we may imagine that his beautiful creature, with a gentle melancholy behind her smile, was also one of the frail sisterhood to which both Lady Hamilton and Mrs Robinson belonged. The extraordinary sweetness and simplicity of Romney’s portraiture of women has the same tender reverence for the sex that we find in ‘The Vicar of Wakefield,’ and the peculiar winningness of Romney is perhaps best described by placing him as the Goldsmith of English painting.
Though he never brought his wife and family to London—where it is probable that they would have felt ill at ease in a sphere to which they were not accustomed—Romney supported them in comfort, and when after years of hard work in London his health broke down, he went back to his wife at Kendal. She received him without reproaches, and under her affectionate care the tired, worn-out genius ‘sank gently into second childhood and the grave’. He died at Kendal on November 15, 1802.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continue)
2
The third great English portrait-painter of the eighteenth century was George Romney, who never exhibited at the Royal Academy, and all his life was hostile to that institution and to its president, Sir Joshua Reynolds. Romney was born at Dalton-in-Furness, Lancashire, in 1734, when Reynolds was a boy of eleven and Gainsborough a child of seven. He was one of eleven children, and his father was a man of many occupations—farmer, builder, cabinet-maker, and dealer—and little prosperous in anything he undertook. George Romney consequently had his education neglected: at eleven years old he was helping his father in the workshop, and there he displayed precocious ability in drawing portraits of the workmen and other people. When he was twenty he made acquaintance of a vagabond artist named Christopher Steele, who journeyed from place to place making portraits, and in 1755 this man secured Romney as his pupil and took him with him on his travels. In the following year Romney fell ill with a fever and was tenderly nursed by his landlady’s daughter, a domestic servant named Mary Abbott, and being a highly-strung romantic youth Romney married this girl in the first burst of his gratitude, and later found her utterly unsuited to be his mate. Steele meanwhile had settled at York and summoned Romney to join him there as soon as he was well enough, and since he was not earning enough to keep a wife Mrs Romney had to go back to service when her husband rejoined the man to whom he was apprenticed.
There was little good that Steele, a mediocre artist and a loose liver, could teach Romney, and their association was more profitable to the older than the younger man, and after a year or two in bondage at York, Romney managed to purchase his freedom, and he then made a home for his wife at Kendal. With this town as his headquarters, he rambled about the Lake Country painting heads at £2 2s. each and small full lengths at £6 6s., till in 1762 he had at last managed to save a hundred pounds.
Romney was now twenty eight, and he felt that if ever he was to make his fortune by his art he must seek it in London. So giving £70 to his wife, with the remaining £30 he came to the capital, where he at once competed for a prize offered by the Society of Arts for an historical picture on ‘The Death of Wolfe.’ Romney was at first awarded a prize of fifty guineas for his version of this theme, but later the judges reversed their verdict and awarded the fifty guineas to John Hamilton Mortimer (1741-79), a young friend of Richard Wilson and Reynolds, and gave Romney only a consolation prize of twenty five guineas. Romney, not unnaturally, believed this reversal of the first judgment to be the result of favoritism, and to to the end of his life he thought that it had been brought about by Reynolds, who had been actuated by fear of a rival. In 1766 Romney again gained a premium for his ‘Death of King Edward’ from the Society of Arts, to which he was now admitted a member, and henceforward he exhibited regularly at the Society’s exhibitions, but always held aloof from the Academy. In 1767 he paid a visit to his wife and two daughters at Kendal, and returning alone to London soon established himself in public favor, and in the early ‘seventies he was making over a thousand a year by his profession. He thought the time had now come when he should visit Italy, and in March 1773 he set off for that country in the company of a brother artist, Ozias Humphrey (1742-1810), who afterwards became a famous miniature-painter. At Rome, Romney separated himself from his fellow traveler and led a hermit’s life, shunning the society of his compatriots, and giving his whole time to work and study. In 1775 he made his way back to England via Venice and Parma, studying with advantage the work of Correggio in the latter city, and reaching London in the month of July. Greatly improved now in his coloring and confident in his increased knowledge and power, Romney boldly took the house and studio of Francis Cotes, R.A (1725-70), who had been one of the chief of the older portrait-painters, at 32 Cavendish Square, and there seriously entered into competition with Reynolds. Gainsborough, it will be remembered, did not come to London till 1779, so that Romney, though the younger man, was the first formidable rival that Reynolds had to endure. Charging £15 15s. for head life-size, Romney soon found himself surrounded by sitters, and Reynolds was alarmed at the way in which his practice for a time was diminished by the painter to whom he contemptuously referred as ‘the man in Cavendish Square’. Later Romney had so many commissions that he was able to put up his prices, but even so he received only about 80 guineas for the full-length portraits which now fetch many thousands of pounds when they are sold by auction at Christie’s. When Reynolds died he left a fortune of £80000 earned by his brush, and though Romney was not successful to this extent he made a good living, his income in the year 1785 being £3635.
But Romney was never a mere money-grubber, and when at the age of forty-eight he first met his most famous sitter, the dazzlingly beautiful Emma Lyon, known to history as Lady Hamilton, he was so fascinated by her extraordinary personality, that time after time he refused all kinds of wealthy sitters in order that he might continue uninterruptedly to paint the lovely Emma. In 1882 the future Lady Hamilton was a mere girl of twenty or twenty one, living under the protection of Charles Grevile, who four years later—when he was in money difficulties—heartlessly handed her over to his uncle, Sir William Hamilton, who treated her more kindly and honorably. For five years Romney painted this fascinating creature continually in a variety of characters, and though gossip soon busied itself making scandal out of their relations, there is no evidence that the painter’s affection for her was anything but platonic. Of his many paintings of her, one of the most charming, the ‘Lady Hamilton’ is in the National Portrait Gallery.
In the art of George Romney there is a peculiar feminine quality which gives an extraordinary winsomeness, almost a pathos, to his paintings of frail women. There is a paternal tenderness rather than the passion of a lover in his paintings of Emma Hamilton and of another famous beauty, Mrs Robinson, known as ‘Perdita’. Romney’s beautiful portrait of the last in the Wallace Collection was done while this gifted actress was under the protection of the Prince of Wales, afterwards George IV. But that royal rascal soon tired of her, and at the age of twenty four she had already been abandoned by ‘the first gentleman in Europe’. When he sent her away the Prince gave her a bond for £20000; but he never paid it, and ‘Perdita’ Robinson died in 1800, poor and paralysed.
Nobody has yet discovered who was the original of Romney’s most famous masterpiece, ‘The Parson’s Daughter’, but we may imagine that his beautiful creature, with a gentle melancholy behind her smile, was also one of the frail sisterhood to which both Lady Hamilton and Mrs Robinson belonged. The extraordinary sweetness and simplicity of Romney’s portraiture of women has the same tender reverence for the sex that we find in ‘The Vicar of Wakefield,’ and the peculiar winningness of Romney is perhaps best described by placing him as the Goldsmith of English painting.
Though he never brought his wife and family to London—where it is probable that they would have felt ill at ease in a sphere to which they were not accustomed—Romney supported them in comfort, and when after years of hard work in London his health broke down, he went back to his wife at Kendal. She received him without reproaches, and under her affectionate care the tired, worn-out genius ‘sank gently into second childhood and the grave’. He died at Kendal on November 15, 1802.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continue)
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Heard On The Street
Many gemstone/jewelry/art buyer (s) don't have the expertise needed to determine what something is worth + it makes sense to turn to professionals for advice + information from someone knowledgeable in the industry can level the information playing field.
The Facebook Facescape
I found the CNN Money.com article on the Facebook Economy (the social networking site) interesting + the article's authors provides some insights on the operating system (s) + other viewpoints on opportunities for new business models.
The Reasons Why People Like Synthetic Gemstones
I think lab-grown gemstone industry is evolving + it hasn’t impacted the natural colored gemstone and diamond market + many believe its threat has been greatly exaggerated + most synthetic gem materials are detectable via standard / advanced gemological tests + they are affordable + some people love technology, so like the product + consumers tend to like the stones if they are properly disclosed with less technical jargons + they are popular in fashion pieces + some buy it for themselves.
Peter Doig
Peter Doig is a Scottish painter + he's one of Europe's most expensive living painters + his pictures are landscapes + he uses unusual colour combinations + depicts scenes from unexpected angles giving his work a magic realist feel + I like it because they simulate inclusion-landscapes in gemstones + they are beautiful.
Useful links:
http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/peter_doig.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Doig
www.michaelwerner.com
www.victoria-miro.com
Useful links:
http://www.saatchi-gallery.co.uk/artists/peter_doig.htm
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peter_Doig
www.michaelwerner.com
www.victoria-miro.com
Bottle Shock
The film, Bottle Shock, by director Randall Miller revisits a 1976 blind tasting in which French experts hailed California wines over some of France's finest vintages + the movie was shown at the Sundance film festival this week + expect more fireworks from the French wine sector.
Useful links:
www.sundance.org
www.bottleshockthemovie.com
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0914797
Useful links:
www.sundance.org
www.bottleshockthemovie.com
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0914797
Smart Money Decisions
In a great book Smart Money Decisions by Max H. Bazerman, there are some insights on why some people lose at auctions + the examples deal with important decision problems everyone of us is confronted with at least once in her/his lifetime + I think gem dealers, jewelers, and art dealers should read it because it contains wealth of insights.
Here is what the description of Smart Money Decisions has to say (via Amazon):
When it comes to money matters, even the smartest of us can make some pretty dumb decisions. From falling in love at first sight with a house and hastily negotiating a price to blindly following the pack in investment dealings, life is fraught with financial choices that are settled on with gut instinct rather than a level head—moves that can, and often do, lead to costly mistakes. In order to sidestep major money blunders, resisting first impulses, though not easy to do, is absolutely crucial. This groundbreaking book gives you the tools necessary to think through fiscal issues practically so you don't continue making decisions rashly.
Written by Max Bazerman, a renowned expert in the field of decision making and negotiation, Smart Money Decisions illustrates both how and why we make the decisions we do. Offering an intriguing mental audit of people's psychological relationship with money, it provides the essential understanding you need to identify your own approach to finances, recognize any inherent problems, and determine ways to overcome them.
Bazerman guides you through these basic steps with the goal of permanently improving your financial decisions in a wide range of real-life scenarios, such as buying and selling a home or a car, making investments, and choosing careers. Highlighting the errors too often made in these and other situations, Smart Money Decisions presents the 10 most important money mistakes, including:
- Overconfidence—the engine that fuels other monetary missteps
- Being unprepared —'winging it' leads to mishaps that could easily be avoided
- Focusing on beating the other side—coming out on top shouldn't overshadow making a decision that will help you in the long run
- Ignoring alternatives—having your heart set on only one option isn't always the wisest strategy
Packed with sound advice and expert recommendations on how to make more reasoned monetary decisions, Smart Money Decisions is essential reading for anyone who wants to stop making costly financial errors.
Here is what the description of Smart Money Decisions has to say (via Amazon):
When it comes to money matters, even the smartest of us can make some pretty dumb decisions. From falling in love at first sight with a house and hastily negotiating a price to blindly following the pack in investment dealings, life is fraught with financial choices that are settled on with gut instinct rather than a level head—moves that can, and often do, lead to costly mistakes. In order to sidestep major money blunders, resisting first impulses, though not easy to do, is absolutely crucial. This groundbreaking book gives you the tools necessary to think through fiscal issues practically so you don't continue making decisions rashly.
Written by Max Bazerman, a renowned expert in the field of decision making and negotiation, Smart Money Decisions illustrates both how and why we make the decisions we do. Offering an intriguing mental audit of people's psychological relationship with money, it provides the essential understanding you need to identify your own approach to finances, recognize any inherent problems, and determine ways to overcome them.
Bazerman guides you through these basic steps with the goal of permanently improving your financial decisions in a wide range of real-life scenarios, such as buying and selling a home or a car, making investments, and choosing careers. Highlighting the errors too often made in these and other situations, Smart Money Decisions presents the 10 most important money mistakes, including:
- Overconfidence—the engine that fuels other monetary missteps
- Being unprepared —'winging it' leads to mishaps that could easily be avoided
- Focusing on beating the other side—coming out on top shouldn't overshadow making a decision that will help you in the long run
- Ignoring alternatives—having your heart set on only one option isn't always the wisest strategy
Packed with sound advice and expert recommendations on how to make more reasoned monetary decisions, Smart Money Decisions is essential reading for anyone who wants to stop making costly financial errors.
Seeing Snowflakes
This is what I found interesting from Ken Libbrecht's website @ SnowCrystals.com + Ken Libbrecht is the chairman of the physics department @ the California Institute of Technology + he studies the physics of snow crystals.
Here is what he has to say about snowflakes:
A snow crystal forms up in the atmosphere + it starts with, say, a small water droplet which freezes into a very tiny piece of ice and then that grows and gets this hexagonal shape + then, as it gets larger, these corners of the hexagon sprout branches and they can become very elaborate as it grows larger + one thing you can do, as a physicist, is you can try to calculate how many ways there are to make a snowflake, and I've done that + it's a very large number + The number of ways to make a complex snowflake is far greater than the total number of atoms in the universe + with such large numbers, you can say fairly confidently that if you looked at all the snowflakes that grew on earth, you would never see one that looked exactly the same.
Here is what he has to say about snowflakes:
A snow crystal forms up in the atmosphere + it starts with, say, a small water droplet which freezes into a very tiny piece of ice and then that grows and gets this hexagonal shape + then, as it gets larger, these corners of the hexagon sprout branches and they can become very elaborate as it grows larger + one thing you can do, as a physicist, is you can try to calculate how many ways there are to make a snowflake, and I've done that + it's a very large number + The number of ways to make a complex snowflake is far greater than the total number of atoms in the universe + with such large numbers, you can say fairly confidently that if you looked at all the snowflakes that grew on earth, you would never see one that looked exactly the same.
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners
(via Diamond Cuts in Historic Jewelry:1381-1910) Herbert Tillander writes:
The Great Cross of Francis I, of about 1540, contained five Table Cut diamonds, one Burgundian Point Cut and three faceted Gothic Roses. In 1988, Morel presented a wrong faceting design of the three drop-shaped gems: the quasi rond diamond alone was a Burgandian Point Cut whereas the drops, described as taillés en face—i.e flat-bottomed—can only have been Gothic, trihedrally faceted Rose Cuts. Bapst, writing in 1888, simply indicated that the diamonds were faceted. The 1559 Crown inventory gave the following description: ‘Une grande croix composée de neuf grands dyamans, c’est a scavoir cinq grandes tables faisant la croix au plus hault , au dessoubs ung dyaman quasi rond et trois aultres dyamans en larmes ou fers de lances taillés en face faisant le pied de la croix auquel pied pend une perle en poire.’ The Cross was pawned several times before disappearing completely.
The ‘Elephant with a Tower’ pendant is one of the central pieces in the Schatzkammer der Residenz, Munich. It dates from between 1557 and 1559, and was made in Munich, probably by Hans Reimer; it is 5.6 cm high. The jewel is still in the former Royal Collection, though no longer in its original state. The fine large Table Cut diamond has unfortunately been replaced by a cheap Blister pearl, the suberb ruby by a spinel, and the exquisite pearl which originally hung from the pendant has disappeared and not been replaced. It was possible to reproduce, from a portrait of Duchess Anne among the miniatures painted by Hans Mielich, the cut of the original diamond, which was found to be perfectly fashioned High Table, 22.3 x 15.9 mm in size, with a table facet of ideal size. The small diamonds which now fill the corners round the Blister pearl are eighteenth century Rose Cuts.
The sitter in the portrait of Christine of Lorraine, Grand Duchess of Tuscany, by Scipione Pulzone, 1590 (Museo degli Argenti, Palazoo Pitti, Florence) is wearing jewels worthy of the wife of the powerful and wealthy Medici Grand Duke Ferdinand I. In contrast to those of other contemporary Florentine princesses, the Duchess Christine’s larger diamonds are all High Table and Mirror Cuts. Some are square and others rectangular, but they are all appear to be very well proportioned.
A three-dimensional St George pendant, with both the front and the back worked in great detail, is the best known, and artistically the finest, of all the Renaissance pendants in the Grϋnes Gewölbe. Here, we shall concentrate on the diamonds in the pedestal. Either the master goldsmith could not find a perfect set of gems, or the jewel was made to order and the jeweler was given only a very limited selection of Table Cut diamonds to work with. The stones themselves are of three types: in the center, blending with red cabochons, are two oblong Table Cuts; next to these are two well-matched Mirror Cuts, one on either side; at the ends, placed vertically because they are smaller than the other stones, are two more Table Cuts. These may have been all the jeweler had at his disposal, but it is also possible that he chose them and positioned them deliberately because they marked so clearly the end of the pedestal while maintaining the height of the rest of the diamonds in the row.
As long as the settings remained clean and the underlying foiling still reflected the incident light, the pedestal formed a bright base for the rest of the jewel. The fact that the cuts were mixed was noticeable only on close examination and did not disturb the integrity of the jewel as a whole. Today, the light entering the jewel is not reflected back at the viewer and the table facets themselves appear disturbingly dark, even black.
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners (continued)
The Great Cross of Francis I, of about 1540, contained five Table Cut diamonds, one Burgundian Point Cut and three faceted Gothic Roses. In 1988, Morel presented a wrong faceting design of the three drop-shaped gems: the quasi rond diamond alone was a Burgandian Point Cut whereas the drops, described as taillés en face—i.e flat-bottomed—can only have been Gothic, trihedrally faceted Rose Cuts. Bapst, writing in 1888, simply indicated that the diamonds were faceted. The 1559 Crown inventory gave the following description: ‘Une grande croix composée de neuf grands dyamans, c’est a scavoir cinq grandes tables faisant la croix au plus hault , au dessoubs ung dyaman quasi rond et trois aultres dyamans en larmes ou fers de lances taillés en face faisant le pied de la croix auquel pied pend une perle en poire.’ The Cross was pawned several times before disappearing completely.
The ‘Elephant with a Tower’ pendant is one of the central pieces in the Schatzkammer der Residenz, Munich. It dates from between 1557 and 1559, and was made in Munich, probably by Hans Reimer; it is 5.6 cm high. The jewel is still in the former Royal Collection, though no longer in its original state. The fine large Table Cut diamond has unfortunately been replaced by a cheap Blister pearl, the suberb ruby by a spinel, and the exquisite pearl which originally hung from the pendant has disappeared and not been replaced. It was possible to reproduce, from a portrait of Duchess Anne among the miniatures painted by Hans Mielich, the cut of the original diamond, which was found to be perfectly fashioned High Table, 22.3 x 15.9 mm in size, with a table facet of ideal size. The small diamonds which now fill the corners round the Blister pearl are eighteenth century Rose Cuts.
The sitter in the portrait of Christine of Lorraine, Grand Duchess of Tuscany, by Scipione Pulzone, 1590 (Museo degli Argenti, Palazoo Pitti, Florence) is wearing jewels worthy of the wife of the powerful and wealthy Medici Grand Duke Ferdinand I. In contrast to those of other contemporary Florentine princesses, the Duchess Christine’s larger diamonds are all High Table and Mirror Cuts. Some are square and others rectangular, but they are all appear to be very well proportioned.
A three-dimensional St George pendant, with both the front and the back worked in great detail, is the best known, and artistically the finest, of all the Renaissance pendants in the Grϋnes Gewölbe. Here, we shall concentrate on the diamonds in the pedestal. Either the master goldsmith could not find a perfect set of gems, or the jewel was made to order and the jeweler was given only a very limited selection of Table Cut diamonds to work with. The stones themselves are of three types: in the center, blending with red cabochons, are two oblong Table Cuts; next to these are two well-matched Mirror Cuts, one on either side; at the ends, placed vertically because they are smaller than the other stones, are two more Table Cuts. These may have been all the jeweler had at his disposal, but it is also possible that he chose them and positioned them deliberately because they marked so clearly the end of the pedestal while maintaining the height of the rest of the diamonds in the row.
As long as the settings remained clean and the underlying foiling still reflected the incident light, the pedestal formed a bright base for the rest of the jewel. The fact that the cuts were mixed was noticeable only on close examination and did not disturb the integrity of the jewel as a whole. Today, the light entering the jewel is not reflected back at the viewer and the table facets themselves appear disturbingly dark, even black.
Full Table Cuts With Blunt, Missing Or Broken Corners (continued)
Early Jewelry Of The British Isles
(via 5000 Years of Gems and Jewelry) Frances Rogers and Alice Beard writes:
2. Anglo Saxon Jewelry
It would seem that whatever a conquered people might feel toward the Romans who came as victors to settle in their country, they were always ready enough to do as the Romans did—in respect to jewelry. For more than three hundred years after the Roman invasion, British jewelry followed, to a great extent, the fashions set by Italy.
With the invading Teutonic tribes in the fifth century there came a new wave of influence, which was, of course, reflected in personal ornaments. Nevertheless, the established traditions of the Roman and Celtic arts were too deeprooted to be easily overthrown, and the work of the Anglo-Saxon goldsmith was never entirely free from their influence.
Both the skill and originality of the goldsmith-jeweler was stimulated by the constant demand for personal ornaments. He was called upon to fashion rings and bracelets intended to be given as rewards of valor; he made amulets of amber and necklaces of precious stones in settings of twisted gold. He made clever use of thin slices of garnet or millefiori glass or pastes of various colors, employing them like bits of mosaic in representations of birds, flowers, or geometrical designs. Many brooches were shaped like birds whose feathers and colorful markings were wrought in bright inlays of glass set within partitions of tiny wires soldered to a metal base.
Following the introduction of Christian art from Rome and Byzantium, Anglo-Saxon jewels took on new forms and character. The Byzantine school sought to combine exquisite treatment of detail with the Oriental love of color. Under this influence the Saxon goldsmith became a master in the use of colorful translucent cloisonńe enamel and delicate gold work.
The ring worn by the Anglo-Saxon at an earlier period had been very primitive indeed, usually a bit of wire twisted into a hoop or spiral. But the rings of the later period show considerable technical skill, especially in the use of neillo, a bluish black metallic inlay which was used extensively on both gold and silver. There can scarcely be a better description of its nature than that given in an ancient manuscript. Probably the author was one of those earnest monks bent on disseminating knowledge of the arts. Says he:
When you wish to make niello, take equal parts of quick-silver, copper and lead and put them in a vessel that they may cook together. Then take of sulphur, as much as is the total of the metals, mix it with them and stir it. When it has calcined, cast it anywhere, where there is clean water, mix it with borax and paint what you wish in the circles. The ‘circles’ are the design carved on the metal base, thus forming grooves to retain the niello inlay.
One of the finest examples of a ring enriched with niello is the massive Anglo-Saxon ring of the ninth century, now belonging to the Victoria and Albert Museum. It is thought to have been made for Alhstan, Bishop of Sherborne, and is composed of four circular and four lozenge-shaped pieces. The latter are ornamented with conventionalized animals, and on the roundels are the letters of the Bishop’s name. The most famous of all English rings belongs to the same period. It is also decorated with niello and bears the name Ethelwulf.
Often niello, enamel work, and inlaid stones were used in combination on a single piece of jewelry such as a brooch. A magnificent example is the Tara Brooch, found on the seashore about a hundred years ago near Bettystown, Cape Louth, Ireland. Aside from its interest as a beautiful and world-famous jewel, it is a fine example of the goldsmith’s art. The while bronze metal is hammered, chased, engraved and thickly gilded. In addition to niello, granulation and filigree, the brooch is further enriched with glass, amber, and blue and red enamels mounted like gems.
Counted among the most famous relics of England is the Alfred Jewel, believed to have been made under the personal direction of King Alfred himself. It was found at Newton Park near Somerset, in 1693, and was later presented to the Ashmoleon Museum at Oxford. No one is certain what the jewel was intended for. Possibly it formed the central ornament in a crown, or it may have been worn as a pendant. In general shape it is an oval elongated at the lower end, somewhat like a hand glass with a wide handle. The design represents a man, supposed by some to be Christ, holding a scepter in each hand; by others it is thought to be the figure of a saint. Legend has it that St Cuthbert appeared to the Saxon King during his stay on the Isle of Althelney, where, in 878, Alfred sought refuge from the Danes—hence the saint’s effigy on the jewel.
The combined arts of the goldsmith were lavished on that jewel. It is decorated with colorful semi-translucent enamels, filigree, and granular goldworks; and around its sloping sides, in letters of gold, runs the legend: Aelfred Mec Heht Gewyrcan (Alfred ordered me to be made).
The ancient practice of burying weapons and personal ornaments with the dead continued well into the eighth century, and to this custom is due the fact that many beautiful specimens of jewelry of that period are still preserved.
But with the coming of Charlemagne a new attitude toward articles of value was introduced. The Emperor forbade the burying of jewels. He considered it a pagan custom, out of keeping with Christian ideology. Furthermore, it was wasteful.
No doubt Charlemagne’s law was wise in its time, nevertheless jewels kept in circulation have far less chance of survival than those stowed safely underground, and we of today are the losers by reason of that law. A conspicuous dearth of surviving jewels marks the period from the reign of Charlemagne onward for some centuries.
However, we are not entirely without knowledge concerning the methods and techniques of the day because certain meticulous records of the goldsmith’s craft were made at the time and still exist.
2. Anglo Saxon Jewelry
It would seem that whatever a conquered people might feel toward the Romans who came as victors to settle in their country, they were always ready enough to do as the Romans did—in respect to jewelry. For more than three hundred years after the Roman invasion, British jewelry followed, to a great extent, the fashions set by Italy.
With the invading Teutonic tribes in the fifth century there came a new wave of influence, which was, of course, reflected in personal ornaments. Nevertheless, the established traditions of the Roman and Celtic arts were too deeprooted to be easily overthrown, and the work of the Anglo-Saxon goldsmith was never entirely free from their influence.
Both the skill and originality of the goldsmith-jeweler was stimulated by the constant demand for personal ornaments. He was called upon to fashion rings and bracelets intended to be given as rewards of valor; he made amulets of amber and necklaces of precious stones in settings of twisted gold. He made clever use of thin slices of garnet or millefiori glass or pastes of various colors, employing them like bits of mosaic in representations of birds, flowers, or geometrical designs. Many brooches were shaped like birds whose feathers and colorful markings were wrought in bright inlays of glass set within partitions of tiny wires soldered to a metal base.
Following the introduction of Christian art from Rome and Byzantium, Anglo-Saxon jewels took on new forms and character. The Byzantine school sought to combine exquisite treatment of detail with the Oriental love of color. Under this influence the Saxon goldsmith became a master in the use of colorful translucent cloisonńe enamel and delicate gold work.
The ring worn by the Anglo-Saxon at an earlier period had been very primitive indeed, usually a bit of wire twisted into a hoop or spiral. But the rings of the later period show considerable technical skill, especially in the use of neillo, a bluish black metallic inlay which was used extensively on both gold and silver. There can scarcely be a better description of its nature than that given in an ancient manuscript. Probably the author was one of those earnest monks bent on disseminating knowledge of the arts. Says he:
When you wish to make niello, take equal parts of quick-silver, copper and lead and put them in a vessel that they may cook together. Then take of sulphur, as much as is the total of the metals, mix it with them and stir it. When it has calcined, cast it anywhere, where there is clean water, mix it with borax and paint what you wish in the circles. The ‘circles’ are the design carved on the metal base, thus forming grooves to retain the niello inlay.
One of the finest examples of a ring enriched with niello is the massive Anglo-Saxon ring of the ninth century, now belonging to the Victoria and Albert Museum. It is thought to have been made for Alhstan, Bishop of Sherborne, and is composed of four circular and four lozenge-shaped pieces. The latter are ornamented with conventionalized animals, and on the roundels are the letters of the Bishop’s name. The most famous of all English rings belongs to the same period. It is also decorated with niello and bears the name Ethelwulf.
Often niello, enamel work, and inlaid stones were used in combination on a single piece of jewelry such as a brooch. A magnificent example is the Tara Brooch, found on the seashore about a hundred years ago near Bettystown, Cape Louth, Ireland. Aside from its interest as a beautiful and world-famous jewel, it is a fine example of the goldsmith’s art. The while bronze metal is hammered, chased, engraved and thickly gilded. In addition to niello, granulation and filigree, the brooch is further enriched with glass, amber, and blue and red enamels mounted like gems.
Counted among the most famous relics of England is the Alfred Jewel, believed to have been made under the personal direction of King Alfred himself. It was found at Newton Park near Somerset, in 1693, and was later presented to the Ashmoleon Museum at Oxford. No one is certain what the jewel was intended for. Possibly it formed the central ornament in a crown, or it may have been worn as a pendant. In general shape it is an oval elongated at the lower end, somewhat like a hand glass with a wide handle. The design represents a man, supposed by some to be Christ, holding a scepter in each hand; by others it is thought to be the figure of a saint. Legend has it that St Cuthbert appeared to the Saxon King during his stay on the Isle of Althelney, where, in 878, Alfred sought refuge from the Danes—hence the saint’s effigy on the jewel.
The combined arts of the goldsmith were lavished on that jewel. It is decorated with colorful semi-translucent enamels, filigree, and granular goldworks; and around its sloping sides, in letters of gold, runs the legend: Aelfred Mec Heht Gewyrcan (Alfred ordered me to be made).
The ancient practice of burying weapons and personal ornaments with the dead continued well into the eighth century, and to this custom is due the fact that many beautiful specimens of jewelry of that period are still preserved.
But with the coming of Charlemagne a new attitude toward articles of value was introduced. The Emperor forbade the burying of jewels. He considered it a pagan custom, out of keeping with Christian ideology. Furthermore, it was wasteful.
No doubt Charlemagne’s law was wise in its time, nevertheless jewels kept in circulation have far less chance of survival than those stowed safely underground, and we of today are the losers by reason of that law. A conspicuous dearth of surviving jewels marks the period from the reign of Charlemagne onward for some centuries.
However, we are not entirely without knowledge concerning the methods and techniques of the day because certain meticulous records of the goldsmith’s craft were made at the time and still exist.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture
(via The Outline of Art) William Orpen writes:
In his discourse to the Academy students in 1778, Reynolds observed that blue should not be massed together in a picture, whereupon Gainsborough proceeded subsequently to paint his famous ‘Blue Boy’ and, by his brilliant success with the boy’s blue dress, put Reynolds in the wrong. It is highly probably that the blues which figure so prominently in his beautiful portrait of ‘Mrs Siddons’ are another expression of Gainsborough’s disapproval of Sir Joshua’s dogmatic teaching. We have only to compare this Gainsborough portrait with Reynolds’s painting of the same actress as ‘The Tragic Muse’ to realize the difference between the two artists. Reynolds painted his picture in 1783, Gainsborough his in 1784, when Mrs Siddons was twenty eight; but, though actually a year younger, everyone will agree that the actress looks years older in Sir Joshua’s picture. Reynolds emphasized the intellectual qualities of the great tragedienne, his endeavor was to show the sublimity of her mind; Gainsborough was content to show the charm and vivacity of her person, and that is why Mrs Siddons looks younger in his portrait. Another temperamental difference between the two artists is shown in their hobbies; while Sir Joshua was interested in literature and delighted in conversing with the learned, Gainsborough’s ruling passion was music. He was not only a good musician himself but was completely carried away by the playing of others. Once when a talented amateur, a Colonel Hamilton, was playing the violin at his house, Gainsborough called out, ‘Go on, go on, and I will give the picture of ‘The Boy at the Stile’ which you have so often wished to buy of me.’ The Colonel ‘went on’ and eventually returned home with the coveted picture of his reward. This love of music makes itself felt in Gainsborough’s pictures, which are lyrical, the paintings of an artist who sings, while those of Reynolds are more philosophical, the pictures of a man who thinks in paint.
Of all the English eighteenth century portraitists Gainsborough is the lightest and airiest, and in freshness of color and in gracefulness without affectation his portraits more than rival those of Reynolds. His ‘Miss Haverfield’ is more of little lady than any of Sir Joshua’s children, and though her gentility may not be accounted of virtue, and while we must admit that Reynold’s ‘Age of Innocence’ has more psychological profundity, ye we cannot find another portrait in the world which excels this Gainsborough in rendering the flower-like charm of childhood.
Though by his portraits Gainsborough acquired so considerable a fortune that he could afford to have country houses at Richmond and in Hampshire as well as his town house, his landscapes rarely found buyers, and remained ‘admired and unsold till they stood ranged in long lines from his hall to his painting room.’ At his death his house was filled with his own landscapes. The end came with some suddenness. A pain in the neck, to which he had paid little attention, turned out to be due to a cancer, and when the physicians pronounced his case hopeless, he settled his affairs with composure and prepared to meet death. He was particularly anxious to be reconciled with Sir Joshua and begged him to visit him on his death bed. When Reynolds came an affecting reconciliation took place: ‘We are all going to heaven,’ said Gainsborough, ‘and Vandyck is of the party.’ Thomas Gainsborough died on August 2, 1788, and by his own desire was buried as privately as possible in Kew Churchyard. Sir Joshua Reynolds was one of the pall-bearers, and in his presidential address to the Academy in the following year he paid an eloquent tribute to the memory of his former rival.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continued)
In his discourse to the Academy students in 1778, Reynolds observed that blue should not be massed together in a picture, whereupon Gainsborough proceeded subsequently to paint his famous ‘Blue Boy’ and, by his brilliant success with the boy’s blue dress, put Reynolds in the wrong. It is highly probably that the blues which figure so prominently in his beautiful portrait of ‘Mrs Siddons’ are another expression of Gainsborough’s disapproval of Sir Joshua’s dogmatic teaching. We have only to compare this Gainsborough portrait with Reynolds’s painting of the same actress as ‘The Tragic Muse’ to realize the difference between the two artists. Reynolds painted his picture in 1783, Gainsborough his in 1784, when Mrs Siddons was twenty eight; but, though actually a year younger, everyone will agree that the actress looks years older in Sir Joshua’s picture. Reynolds emphasized the intellectual qualities of the great tragedienne, his endeavor was to show the sublimity of her mind; Gainsborough was content to show the charm and vivacity of her person, and that is why Mrs Siddons looks younger in his portrait. Another temperamental difference between the two artists is shown in their hobbies; while Sir Joshua was interested in literature and delighted in conversing with the learned, Gainsborough’s ruling passion was music. He was not only a good musician himself but was completely carried away by the playing of others. Once when a talented amateur, a Colonel Hamilton, was playing the violin at his house, Gainsborough called out, ‘Go on, go on, and I will give the picture of ‘The Boy at the Stile’ which you have so often wished to buy of me.’ The Colonel ‘went on’ and eventually returned home with the coveted picture of his reward. This love of music makes itself felt in Gainsborough’s pictures, which are lyrical, the paintings of an artist who sings, while those of Reynolds are more philosophical, the pictures of a man who thinks in paint.
Of all the English eighteenth century portraitists Gainsborough is the lightest and airiest, and in freshness of color and in gracefulness without affectation his portraits more than rival those of Reynolds. His ‘Miss Haverfield’ is more of little lady than any of Sir Joshua’s children, and though her gentility may not be accounted of virtue, and while we must admit that Reynold’s ‘Age of Innocence’ has more psychological profundity, ye we cannot find another portrait in the world which excels this Gainsborough in rendering the flower-like charm of childhood.
Though by his portraits Gainsborough acquired so considerable a fortune that he could afford to have country houses at Richmond and in Hampshire as well as his town house, his landscapes rarely found buyers, and remained ‘admired and unsold till they stood ranged in long lines from his hall to his painting room.’ At his death his house was filled with his own landscapes. The end came with some suddenness. A pain in the neck, to which he had paid little attention, turned out to be due to a cancer, and when the physicians pronounced his case hopeless, he settled his affairs with composure and prepared to meet death. He was particularly anxious to be reconciled with Sir Joshua and begged him to visit him on his death bed. When Reynolds came an affecting reconciliation took place: ‘We are all going to heaven,’ said Gainsborough, ‘and Vandyck is of the party.’ Thomas Gainsborough died on August 2, 1788, and by his own desire was buried as privately as possible in Kew Churchyard. Sir Joshua Reynolds was one of the pall-bearers, and in his presidential address to the Academy in the following year he paid an eloquent tribute to the memory of his former rival.
Eighteenth Century British Portraiture (continued)
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